Kit 'Booky' Levansque

Greek Myth:              Hecate

“Ibrahim…”

However, if my chocolate-flavored coffee beans, specially imported from Yemen at great personal and financial cost, the ones that I save for special occasions, have been harmed in any way, shape, or form, I will escort you to the most suitable mosque in the local area to politely request the learned Imam there to tutor you in the virtues of generosity, kindness, and empathy. 

And you do not want to know just what measures I will take to keep you fixed in one place until the lessons take hold. 

And the only shop that makes their joe strong enough closed two months ago. You know the one, Booky, the one on Madison Avenue?

(thumps several case files down in front of Graham).  Here. Current details and statistics on the Brodies, the Snichts, and the McFowlson crime families- if we’re going to have people itching to curse someone, lets at least try and aim it where it’ll do some good. Think you can hold the briefings and get people out into the streets ASAP?

Burying her lack of motivation in favor of determination, she takes the case files, as well, and opens the first one, taking a glance at the documents.

“Pots as in coffee machine pots or as in large cups? Anyway, Rutherford, first spot without competition. I know for a fact that our dear head of international relations has to face one hell of a day. We don’t want her to cause an incident. I’d also say Picquery since we all know well enough how bad she is with coffee, so I don’t even want to think about her without. But I’d make it depend on her schedule today, so maybe ask her first secretary beforehand. That reminds me, her first secretary. That poor sap has to put up with a lot. Also, His Lordship van Halen, we don’t want the court to be ruled by crankiness. Suárez from Internal Affairs. She may be a bitch on a daily basis, but I don’t want to see her without coffee, either. They are the most important ones. If we have anything to spare afterwards, start with Gallagher from the Accident Reversal Commando, Jimenez from the Supply Storage and whoever is manning the informantion stand’s front desk today. If anyone finds a coffee shop that proves to be adequate, start with the offices that have most contact with non-employees and work your way down from there. Sounds reasonable?”

She pats Kit’s shoulder with her free hand, nose still buried in the files. “At least we have someone here who’s sensible enough to hoard coffee instead of booze. Say, do you know if I have to get a search warrant for the McFowlson kontors or is there already one in here? If anyone has to deal with the judge without coffee, I’ll do it.

Pots as in coffee machine pots. And Boss had better damn well compensate me for my beans; this stuff comes from Yemen, Graham. Yemen. I actually had to trade a book from my personal collection to get it. 

For Gerald McFowlson specifically, yes; for the larger operation, no. Better get to the judge before the withdrawal gets too bad. Also - evade if Gerald comes at you with a sword; there’s rumors flying around that the idea has a death wish and tried to buy, steal, or recreate the Tarrant sword. The damn thing’s a literal soul-stealer - feels like you’re standing next to a dementor, apparently. 

“Are really craving that much coffee? Why don’t you try mint tea instead? It’s good for you and you can drink during winter as summer. Plus you can even add spices!”

The young woman had spent her childhood drinking mint tea, a traditional beverage in Algeria. But it was also because coffee was often deemed too expensive to her parents and family that she never drank it.

“Look, let me make some good mint tea for everyone. You’ll see: it will set your mind at ease.”

She glares at Ibrahim who does not even bother to hide his laughter at the result of his misdeed.

“Mint tea?” Liz barely manages to stop herself from bursting into laughter. She doesn’t want Yassa to think she’s making fun of her. Although a bit naive, it’s a sweet offer. “Yassa, you’re cute. Really. But mint tea isn’t strong enough. None of us need something soothing, we all need a liquid kick in the ass to stay awake and functional. I’m sure Kit is able to explain it better than me if you want to know.

I sincerely doubt it’s the actual Tarrant, mainly because the moron’s still alive. The genuine Tarrant has at least six massacres associated with it, mainly because the owner really didn’t like people claiming his stuff for their own. And yes, I know that he’s supposed to be dead and ash, but considering his history? I really, really doubt that would stop him.

But on the off chance he’s the luckiest idiot this side of the millennia - if you run across a dementor-sword, do not touch the fucking thing. Let it lie where it falls, and whatever you do, do not claim possession of the damn thing in any way, shape, or form. Just - call me over to examine it. 

Yassa, it’s not a matter of whether or not it tastes good - the real problem is that just about everyone in MACUSA is a coffee addict, and there are literal health consequences to being cut off from the stuff with no warning. Headaches, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, irritability, tremors, to name a few. Everyone in the Department is about to be absolutely miserable as well as very very angry at the slightest provocation. 

Also, just a quick question, Yassa - I once read an account of an evil spirit who was cast into a vat of molten metal and subsequently forged into a bell for a holy place of some kind. Apparently, it tolled year after year, drawing the faithful to prayer and contemplation, and it was very very effective because its sound could not be ignored. Do you think that ‘evil spirit’ referred to some kind of djinn?

Graham, at this point I might just suggest you assign him the worst of the coffee addicts for his squad - that way it won’t matter if they drink the damn stuff, we’ll have given the people most likely to fly off the handle their daily fix. 

Also, could you drop this report off with the Boss? I’m expediting our usual orders for the damn stuff so it should get here within the next week then the next month. But it looks like we might end up guzzling whatever swill we can get from whatever fucking cafes and coffee-shops are in the area in the meantime anyway, just - I’m doing what I can. 

“Ibrahim…”

However, if my chocolate-flavored coffee beans, specially imported from Yemen at great personal and financial cost, the ones that I save for special occasions, have been harmed in any way, shape, or form, I will escort you to the most suitable mosque in the local area to politely request the learned Imam there to tutor you in the virtues of generosity, kindness, and empathy. 

And you do not want to know just what measures I will take to keep you fixed in one place until the lessons take hold. 

And the only shop that makes their joe strong enough closed two months ago. You know the one, Booky, the one on Madison Avenue?

(thumps several case files down in front of Graham).  Here. Current details and statistics on the Brodies, the Snichts, and the McFowlson crime families- if we’re going to have people itching to curse someone, lets at least try and aim it where it’ll do some good. Think you can hold the briefings and get people out into the streets ASAP?

Burying her lack of motivation in favor of determination, she takes the case files, as well, and opens the first one, taking a glance at the documents.

“Pots as in coffee machine pots or as in large cups? Anyway, Rutherford, first spot without competition. I know for a fact that our dear head of international relations has to face one hell of a day. We don’t want her to cause an incident. I’d also say Picquery since we all know well enough how bad she is with coffee, so I don’t even want to think about her without. But I’d make it depend on her schedule today, so maybe ask her first secretary beforehand. That reminds me, her first secretary. That poor sap has to put up with a lot. Also, His Lordship van Halen, we don’t want the court to be ruled by crankiness. Suárez from Internal Affairs. She may be a bitch on a daily basis, but I don’t want to see her without coffee, either. They are the most important ones. If we have anything to spare afterwards, start with Gallagher from the Accident Reversal Commando, Jimenez from the Supply Storage and whoever is manning the informantion stand’s front desk today. If anyone finds a coffee shop that proves to be adequate, start with the offices that have most contact with non-employees and work your way down from there. Sounds reasonable?”

She pats Kit’s shoulder with her free hand, nose still buried in the files. “At least we have someone here who’s sensible enough to hoard coffee instead of booze. Say, do you know if I have to get a search warrant for the McFowlson kontors or is there already one in here? If anyone has to deal with the judge without coffee, I’ll do it.

Pots as in coffee machine pots. And Boss had better damn well compensate me for my beans; this stuff comes from Yemen, Graham. Yemen. I actually had to trade a book from my personal collection to get it. 

For Gerald McFowlson specifically, yes; for the larger operation, no. Better get to the judge before the withdrawal gets too bad. Also - evade if Gerald comes at you with a sword; there’s rumors flying around that the idea has a death wish and tried to buy, steal, or recreate the Tarrant sword. The damn thing’s a literal soul-stealer - feels like you’re standing next to a dementor, apparently. 

“Ibrahim…”

However, if my chocolate-flavored coffee beans, specially imported from Yemen at great personal and financial cost, the ones that I save for special occasions, have been harmed in any way, shape, or form, I will escort you to the most suitable mosque in the local area to politely request the learned Imam there to tutor you in the virtues of generosity, kindness, and empathy. 

And you do not want to know just what measures I will take to keep you fixed in one place until the lessons take hold. 

And the only shop that makes their joe strong enough closed two months ago. You know the one, Booky, the one on Madison Avenue?

(thumps several case files down in front of Graham).  Here. Current details and statistics on the Brodies, the Snichts, and the McFowlson crime families- if we’re going to have people itching to curse someone, lets at least try and aim it where it’ll do some good. Think you can hold the briefings and get people out into the streets ASAP?

“Ibrahim…”

However, if my chocolate-flavored coffee beans, specially imported from Yemen at great personal and financial cost, the ones that I save for special occasions, have been harmed in any way, shape, or form, I will escort you to the most suitable mosque in the local area to politely request the learned Imam there to tutor you in the virtues of generosity, kindness, and empathy. 

And you do not want to know just what measures I will take to keep you fixed in one place until the lessons take hold. 

The fact that the memos I sent him were spelled to explode if left unread was probably the main factor, actually. As was the fact that I felt sorry for him once - it was after the Brady case - and ended up doing most of his paperwork in a belated ‘hope you feel better soon’ gift. (I was young, and relatively innocent).

That got his immediate attention - if by ‘immediate attention’ you’re referring to how he came barging into the staff room, eyes wild and wand at the ready, demanding to know just what kind of infernal magic-user I was to successfully tame the beast known as ‘paperwork’. (He was also severely sleep-deprived at the time). He tried to interrogate me, I handed him a cup of coffee (well, it was one-fourth coffee and three-fourths whiskey) and told him he needed to submit forms 3a through 17b before next Tuesday, he called me a foul beast escaped from the pit and tried to perform an exorcism, I corrected his pronunciation - it all snowballed from there.

The interrogation was entirely justified because those are standard procedure for disposing of classified intel and junior archivists just aren’t supposed to casually undo that. I mean, unnecessary paperwork that no one in their right mind would ever fill in is one thing, but hell, what kind of other secret memos are you just hoarding away in your filing cabinets??

Yes, boss. There are procedures for disposing of classified intel. Those procedures are usually vanishing said documents, because any idiot with a basic grasp of the reparo charm can fix a shredded piece of paper. As for the forms you set on fire, I simply acquired another set from Admin and filled them out for you. And is it really stealing if said paperwork bin is sitting in the hallway outside your office, just waiting to be picked up by the Janitorial staff?

If you ever want to know what kind of memos I have stored away for a rainy day, boss, you have only to ask. You will, of course, have to sign an NDA first - I’m still trying to get some of the charms patented.

The fact that the memos I sent him were spelled to explode if left unread was probably the main factor, actually. As was the fact that I felt sorry for him once - it was after the Brady case - and ended up doing most of his paperwork in a belated ‘hope you feel better soon’ gift. (I was young, and relatively innocent).

That got his immediate attention - if by ‘immediate attention’ you’re referring to how he came barging into the staff room, eyes wild and wand at the ready, demanding to know just what kind of infernal magic-user I was to successfully tame the beast known as ‘paperwork’. (He was also severely sleep-deprived at the time). He tried to interrogate me, I handed him a cup of coffee (well, it was one-fourth coffee and three-fourths whiskey) and told him he needed to submit forms 3a through 17b before next Tuesday, he called me a foul beast escaped from the pit and tried to perform an exorcism, I corrected his pronunciation - it all snowballed from there.

Delgado.

Delgado…

Delgado….

….

……..

Oh shiiiiit.

C’mon Levansque, let’s get you away from the scary curse books, ok, no one needs books made from…is this real skin? … It is? ……….Ok. Ok, well, uh, you aren’t gonna need that in combination with the…wait is that brandy? Is that Boss’ brandy?! Goddamn Levansque you got balls…..

You have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel, that’s the point! It doesn’t make sense otherwise. Y’need to - bend your thoughts around corners. To think sideways. He was a bad man, Delgado. He was a really bad man. I don’t like him. But Grindels would like him. He’d like him a lot. So that’s why I have to read t’History.

There’re a lot of magics that you can only do when you’re drunk, yaknow. Like - like the Rites of the Bacchae, that’s a good one, or the Appeasement of Ninkasi. But that one’s just about reciting how to make beer in iambic pentameter.

*pauses, squints at the monkey*. Don’ worry, he said he doesn’t like necromancy. But - hey. Heyyy, Ibrahim? D’you know Sashi? She was a djinn, and she liked necromancers. Martala talks ‘bout her in the Nadiir.

I told Delgado - you have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel! You have to think sideways. And s’like - shock cushions. For reading. Or it burns and burns and burns in your brain like spiders trying to tear out of your skull… *pats Graham’s face*. Don’ worry. S’ not as bad as the Octavo - y’have to fight that one to read it, an’ Melichus’ Nameless is supposed to be really, really bad.

What’s happening here?

(IBRAHIM hops on GRAHAM’s head, cackling maniacally as usual.)

“Lovely. C’mon, Booky. Did you finish reading or should you get back to it before you sober up.” She does not add the ‘although that will take some time’ that goes through her mind.

“Kit’s drunk, Yassa. She wanted to read a book. It’s…you know what, just don’t ask.”

I don’t wanna meet Sashi, Ibbie. Sashi ate kids. An’ fucked necromancers. Yassa, please don’t summon Sashi? Don’t let Ibbie bully you into it.

Graham, Delgado - the History s’ a recent intake. Head of Acquisitions wanted to know where it should go. Giving my recommendation - s’ going to the High Security Vaults. Feisel was a bad man. Good grammar, though.

Boss has awful brandy, Graham. But it was t’only booze nearby, an’ I had to, or the spiders would have eaten out of my head. Boss can’t get angry at me for that.

“Of course you can have marzipan cake. A really big slice if you want, too.”

IBRAHIM: Ah! You WISHED, motherfucker!

(YASSA lets out an indignant exclamation.)

Ibrahim! How many times do I have to tell to stop talking like a mob boss!

(IBRAHIM seems to pout. He hops on LEVANSQUE’s shoulder.)

The History needs to go into the High Security Vaults. Lock it down, please? 

crack edits [2/?]: percival + paperwork [1/? ]

aurors: Director Graves hasn’t come out of his office for three days now, what do we do? secretary: no he’s fine *shows by opening his door* see he’s fine

Delgado, you apparently underestimated the sheer stupidity of my most recent minions - they bend corners, Delgado. They misfile things. They don’t check their spelling when they write reports, and then they attempt to downplay their grammar errors because ‘no one reads this stuff anyway, right?’

…Delgado. Remember my counterstrike during the Great Paperwork Revolt of ‘24? Specifically, when I glamored my eyes solid black, wore my most ragged robes to work, intoned nonsense at everyone in an echoing voice and generally gave the impression I’d gone full-blown Morgana? (I cleared it with the Boss first of course, I had no desire to be hexed six ways from Sunday). 

The fingernails for one could have done with being a good inch longer and preferable painted black with some thick, viscous substance dripping off them. You want that, “I have clawed out all of Accounting’s eyeballs with my bare hands and you’re next” kind of vibe, y’know.

The hair, for certain, could have been even more intimidating through either excessive backcombing or a very complicated undo, preferably with a few little plaits wound into a big bun. Maybe also some little black snakes just kind of wound into it for the aesthetics of the situation.

Barefeet is a must. The whole about to do a ritual look isn’t complete without them. The department floor is disgusting though, so maybe look into protective charms as well. On the other hand, dirty bare feet is another step up the ladder. 

Hmm, what else was on the list? Oh yes. If you can, enchant the shadows to darken and just kind of veer towards you wherever you go, in a vaguely threatening manner. I think you will definitely need to run that by the Boss though, otherwise you might be arrested. That is normally some serious Dark shit.

But really Levansque, if they’re causing you that many problems, I could always take a break and come to…convince them to change their ways. I don’t like it when people piss off my sis-friends.

Ibrahim, s’il te plaît, leave these poor people alone. They’re trying to do their job and I don’t want them getting fired because you ate their reports!

(IBRAHIM shrugs, obviously not really concerned by that fact.)

Your offer is appreciated, Delgado, but I think that any - corrective action needs to come from me. They’re not going to respect the sanctity of paperwork if you step in. And besides, the paperwork issue is fairly easily fixed.

I’m just going to stop correcting them, and pointing out their errors so they can fix their work.

I think they will learn to respect paperwork in short order.

In a month, when their paychecks fail to show up because they didn’t fill the forms out properly and they submitted their work days late. In two weeks, when they come under investigation from Internal Affairs because they misfiled the critical requests sent from one department to another and never responded to the messages marked ‘URGENT’. In a week, when they fail to show up in time for briefings, for training, for meals because they didn’t read the memo describing when and where all of the above was to occur.

In twenty-four hours, when they’re slammed in a holding cell under suspicion of infiltration and impersonation because their access has been revoked, because they didn’t adhere to security procedures, because they fucking misdid the forms.

They’ll damn well start doing their work right then.

No, what I’m worried about is that if they’re that incompetent in something that calls for attention to fine detail they’re going to get themselves fucking killed in the field - where that sort of thing can literally be the difference between life and death. If they’re that overconfident, that unwilling to pay attention to a senior auror (wait, am I still a senior auror? Technically, Grindelfuck was the one who promoted me - now I just feel dirty) they’re signing their own fucking death warrants. I know they’re rookies and a certain number of mistakes is to be anticipated, but I don’t want to have to be the one to process those bits of paperwork.

Thus, my plan of going full-blown Morgana on them. 

Scaring ‘em straight is an oldie but goodie.

Current plan is to show up at the office in full war gear - the heels, the coat, jewelry, the works, you know, all the stuff that shows I Mean Business - and let them know that I’m going to be working on something and am not to be disturbed.

And that’s when I dip my hands in ashes, don tattered black robes, take off my shoes, weave my hair into a tangled snarl of strands, charm my eyes pure pitch black, apply an echo-reverb to my voice, and don and Amulet of Issola - it’s sort of a magnet for shadows, makes ‘em reach out towards you.

Knowing those idiots, they’ll barge in on me in short order - I think they’re convinced that I’m all bark and no bite. At which point in time I fake a catastrophic ritual failure due to the interruption, and then emerge from the smoke and fucking go after them. At a dead walk, of course.

Meanwhile Hades is in the background “????? UM??? PRETTY GIRL??? WHY ARE YOU HERE?????? YOU AREN’T DEAD???” 

And Persephone (who was originally called Kore just a little fyi) just looked at him and said “I like it here. I’m staying.”

And Hades kinda just went with it, until Demeter started throwing the temper tantrum of the millenium upstairs and Zeus had to intervene because this shit was getting out of hand and its actually his job to be admistrator of justice. Which considering the shit he gets up to is kinda histerical but that’s another story there. 

And basically Persephone wasn’t a prisoner or kidnap victim at all she just really loved the Underworld and her (eventual) husband, and the Greeks feared her arguably more than her husband because Hades could be reasoned with but Persephone was the one laying the smack down on sinners, and really, who wouldn’t be at least a little scared of someone who’s name means something along the lines of “the destroyer”

Delgado.

Delgado…

Delgado….

….

……..

Oh shiiiiit.

C’mon Levansque, let’s get you away from the scary curse books, ok, no one needs books made from…is this real skin? … It is? ……….Ok. Ok, well, uh, you aren’t gonna need that in combination with the…wait is that brandy? Is that Boss’ brandy?! Goddamn Levansque you got balls…..

You have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel, that’s the point! It doesn’t make sense otherwise. Y’need to - bend your thoughts around corners. To think sideways. He was a bad man, Delgado. He was a really bad man. I don’t like him. But Grindels would like him. He’d like him a lot. So that’s why I have to read t’History.

There’re a lot of magics that you can only do when you’re drunk, yaknow. Like - like the Rites of the Bacchae, that’s a good one, or the Appeasement of Ninkasi. But that one’s just about reciting how to make beer in iambic pentameter.

*pauses, squints at the monkey*. Don’ worry, he said he doesn’t like necromancy. But - hey. Heyyy, Ibrahim? D’you know Sashi? She was a djinn, and she liked necromancers. Martala talks ‘bout her in the Nadiir.

I told Delgado - you have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel! You have to think sideways. And s’like - shock cushions. For reading. Or it burns and burns and burns in your brain like spiders trying to tear out of your skull… *pats Graham’s face*. Don’ worry. S’ not as bad as the Octavo - y’have to fight that one to read it, an’ Melichus’ Nameless is supposed to be really, really bad.

What’s happening here?

(IBRAHIM hops on GRAHAM’s head, cackling maniacally as usual.)

“Lovely. C’mon, Booky. Did you finish reading or should you get back to it before you sober up.” She does not add the ‘although that will take some time’ that goes through her mind.

“Kit’s drunk, Yassa. She wanted to read a book. It’s…you know what, just don’t ask.”

I don’t wanna meet Sashi, Ibbie. Sashi ate kids. An’ fucked necromancers. Yassa, please don’t summon Sashi? Don’t let Ibbie bully you into it.

Graham, Delgado - the History s’ a recent intake. Head of Acquisitions wanted to know where it should go. Giving my recommendation - s’ going to the High Security Vaults. Feisel was a bad man. Good grammar, though.

Boss has awful brandy, Graham. But it was t’only booze nearby, an’ I had to, or the spiders would have eaten out of my head. Boss can’t get angry at me for that.

“Of course you can have marzipan cake. A really big slice if you want, too.”

IBRAHIM: Ah! You WISHED, motherfucker!

(YASSA lets out an indignant exclamation.)

Ibrahim! How many times do I have to tell to stop talking like a mob boss!

(IBRAHIM seems to pout. He hops on LEVANSQUE’s shoulder.)

The History needs to go into the High Security Vaults. Lock it down, please? 

Delgado.

Delgado…

Delgado….

….

……..

Oh shiiiiit.

C’mon Levansque, let’s get you away from the scary curse books, ok, no one needs books made from…is this real skin? … It is? ……….Ok. Ok, well, uh, you aren’t gonna need that in combination with the…wait is that brandy? Is that Boss’ brandy?! Goddamn Levansque you got balls…..

You have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel, that’s the point! It doesn’t make sense otherwise. Y’need to - bend your thoughts around corners. To think sideways. He was a bad man, Delgado. He was a really bad man. I don’t like him. But Grindels would like him. He’d like him a lot. So that’s why I have to read t’History.

There’re a lot of magics that you can only do when you’re drunk, yaknow. Like - like the Rites of the Bacchae, that’s a good one, or the Appeasement of Ninkasi. But that one’s just about reciting how to make beer in iambic pentameter.

*pauses, squints at the monkey*. Don’ worry, he said he doesn’t like necromancy. But - hey. Heyyy, Ibrahim? D’you know Sashi? She was a djinn, and she liked necromancers. Martala talks ‘bout her in the Nadiir.

I told Delgado - you have to be drunk to read t’History of Feisel! You have to think sideways. And s’like - shock cushions. For reading. Or it burns and burns and burns in your brain like spiders trying to tear out of your skull… *pats Graham’s face*. Don’ worry. S’ not as bad as the Octavo - y’have to fight that one to read it, an’ Melichus’ Nameless is supposed to be really, really bad.

What’s happening here?

(IBRAHIM hops on GRAHAM’s head, cackling maniacally as usual.)

“Lovely. C’mon, Booky. Did you finish reading or should you get back to it before you sober up.” She does not add the ‘although that will take some time’ that goes through her mind.

“Kit’s drunk, Yassa. She wanted to read a book. It’s…you know what, just don’t ask.”

I don’t wanna meet Sashi, Ibbie. Sashi ate kids. An’ fucked necromancers. Yassa, please don’t summon Sashi? Don’t let Ibbie bully you into it.

Graham, Delgado - the History s’ a recent intake. Head of Acquisitions wanted to know where it should go. Giving my recommendation - s’ going to the High Security Vaults. Feisel was a bad man. Good grammar, though.

Boss has awful brandy, Graham. But it was t’only booze nearby, an’ I had to, or the spiders would have eaten out of my head. Boss can’t get angry at me for that.