MOON DRUNKEN

Summoning them both unceremoniously to their feet, he plucked their wands away and handed them to Greyback. A silencing charm followed, ensuring they would not shout while moving through the crowd towards the woods.

"I didn't say you couldn't," he replied, brow arched; "but you know as well as I do how eager they can be to get away." Besides, it was a kind of symbolism. Stripping them of their power, just as their kind—Rabastan's included, ugh—had done to so many others. How many wolves had their wands snapped simply for existing? He would have relished in the chance to do the same, but never would have stopped there. Bones broke even easier than wands, he'd found. Still, who was he to question him? He had been in service to the Dark Lord for a reason and while any respect Fenrir gave to their lot was consequential at best, he knew the man to be worth his life. It was a rarer kind of respect still than he gave most in the service. Downing the rest of his drink while Rab took care of their guests, he tossed his tin cup aside and righted himself for a pleasant—if secretive—stroll. "Nice night for it, isn't it?" he remarked, once they were further out of earshot of anyone else. "How far do you think they'll get?"

“Whereas,” he continued easily, “Placing werewolves in employment, giving them the tools to live comfortably, can show the Wixan their fears are just that, fears, not facts. I’d prefer if you’d help me in this matter, help life your people up,” he paused a moment, “Since it’s a fine between protecting your people from the boot, and wearing it.” 

Greyback snorted. "You know which." He wasn't highly regarded by muggle society as it was, given his own ancestry—to say nothing of blood purity politics among the magical variety—but it mattered little to him. There was only one group he felt any kinship with, and it was other werewolves. What did it matter where his so-called family hailed from when they had been all too eager to throw him to the wolves (literally) themselves? Humankind, wix or not, was all the same. A few individuals with awareness changed nothing when the vast majority, including those that ran their world, would have preferred to shoot them down in the streets like dogs. Dirk's comment about command of magic flared his nostrils, but he took another sip from his tea instead of biting back. It was true that they did have more at their disposal, but only because they had spent so many millennia barring anyone else from the practice. Fenrir himself knew that he was an excellent duelist—and self-taught, a boost to his pride—but that few others were allowed the same opportunities that he was. Few were even allowed to have wands, as they were regarded as beasts under Ministry law. "It is a fine line," he agreed, yellow eyes piercing as they were pointed; "and that's precisely why I'm here. To let you know that should you cross it, there will be hell to pay."

Whatever Fenrir was expecting to hear, it wasn't what Rabastan ended up relaying. Ministry officials, trapped and ready to be flayed until their screams rang out across the continent tormented? Christmas was coming early this year, it seemed. "Seems I've underestimated you, Lestrange," he said, grinning with a mouthful of sharp teeth; "you're more cunning than I thought. Have you taken their wands yet? Don't want them trying anything funny." To say nothing of the disappointment of an escape. Almost as much as if they had simply rotted in the booth—and he wouldn't even have the luxury of knowing they were dead, either.

@redmoonrisings

As a disturbance finally arose up ahead, he turned his eyes towards it with darkly engaged delight, looking away only when another person stepped beside him.

Fenrir stepped up beside him, brow arched. "You know, if I didn't know any better," he started, gulping back the rest of his firewhiskey. Far be it for him to ignore celebration, even when he didn't care much for who was celebrating. Alcohol was alcohol, whether you got it from goblins or wizards or even—believe it or not—from muggles. Rabastan didn't seem to be having the same sort of fun. "I would say you were up to something," he continued, edge of his lip twitching with a smirk. "And since I do... I want in."

She stood only a few feet away from him while waiting for him to finish up with the check-in process. After, she ensured there was still a smile on her lips before confirming, "So, we're off to the Security office, yes?"

She was certainly smarter than she looked, he would give her that. Not many people, particularly of the magical variety, had that same sharpness. Most were too up their own arses to give a damn. She was up there too, but far enough it seemed that she was able to right herself again, head back on her shoulders. "That's why I'm here," he said, voice gruff. Inside, there was a hint of amusement. It was true enough, although not in the way he implied. He signed in with his old name, a fake name as far as he was concerned. "Yes, ma'am," he said, not quite respectfully. "Off to security."

Some Merfolk, a Centaur or two and many Giants. “And would you stand in the way of something that doesn’t harm them and makes them happy?” He asked, tilting his head a little, “Just because you can?”  

Greyback snorted. "Wearing down my patience, for one. I shouldn't have to explain to you what your lot are like." Things had come forward somewhat since he was a cub, but not by much. He knew how it was on the streets and who had always kicked him—them—when he was down. Other beasts weren't necessarily welcoming to any others, werewolves included, but at least they hadn't helped in the crusade against their kind. It was convenience, more than compassion—werewolves were only dangerous to humans, after all—but where they were settled, he would take what he could get. "Of course not," he answered, shaking his head. More or less true, dependent on a few... extraneous details. He was happy to stand in the way of personal happiness if he benefitted in some way, but simply taking a job rarely did any of that. "But not everyone knows what's best for them. My people are used to taking the boot, as it were. Some of them still struggle not to."

“I will only deal with people who want my help. However,” Dirk took another sip of his tea and continued, “While I understand and respect your position, please be aware that if a member of your pack wants my help I won’t need your permission to give it. You’ll protect your people your way, and so will I. In the end our goals are aligned.” He finished brightly, “And the world’s a little brighter for it.”    

Fenrir arched a brow, amusement flickering in his expression. It was certainly better than the alternative. He didn't often take to boldness. Still, he could be a gentleman, and this was Dirk's home. Because he'd been courteous, he could allow for a little more leeway. "You presume too much," he said, taking a quick gulp from his tea. He wasn't going to admit it outright, but it was quite good. He wouldn't have expected that, given how Dirk had chosen to prepare it. Maybe there was something to this 'effort' thing, after all. "You're not a danger to my pack," he continued, shaking his head. It amused him to think that Dirk would endanger his hierarchy simply by offering employment. There were plenty of people in the world that could do that, particularly when he was leering in the corner. If this wizard caused problems, he'd turn him inside out. Easy. Problem solved. But "I'm here to make sure you don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. As long as she isn't disrespected," he trailed off, shrugging; "I won't need to kill you. Seems fair, no?" It was laughable that their goals could align, but for the moment there was no interruption involved in allowing a deal. Extra income was always needed for keeping their territory functioning as it did. "You don't need my permission," he agreed, snorting. "But they will. Just don't give me a reason to say no."

Remus nudged him back. "I do not admit it that often." Looking back at the stands he wrinkled his nose. "My team isn't playing also my seat mate was supposed to be getting snacks, my bet is he is flirting."

For a long moment, Fenrir danced between wondering if it was brave or stupid to let him know that, without a doubt, the two of them were alone. If it was an assassination attempt, he was certain it wouldn't have been very difficult. It was almost a shame that it wasn't—but there were always plenty of others to flex his claws on. He didn't feel the need to sabotage his packmate in her position just yet—so long as she remembered where she belonged, wanting some coin on the side didn't particularly bother him. "One sugar will do fine," he answered, watching with mild interest as Dirk went about making it the tedious way. Without magic, as it were. There were a small number in his own pack who had to do without, either through poor means or no magical blood at all, but in his own life it felt ludicrous make more work for himself. But it wasn't his home nor his life, so he filed his thoughts away for the time being, letting Dirk get on with his guessing game. Plucking a biscuit from the table, he let himself enjoy it before he finally answered, chasing it with a gulp from his cup. "It's close to a warning than whatever else you're on about." It wasn't a negative to hear that she was doing well. Fenrir himself knew that she was a hard worker, but it was rare for anyone to acknowledge that. More than rare—almost entirely unheard of. "I want to make sure that you understand something. I look after my own—don't make me have to. I've decided to let her take the job, but I'm sure I don't need to spell out what happens if I start getting complaints."

"Do I look like the majority of your visitors?" he asked, voice mild in spite of himself. It was rare that anyone talking to him was able to hang onto a smile, least of all someone within the Ministry. He could only imagine what she really felt, but it was more than likely that they were of a similar mind... if in the opposite directions. He was no more fond of her than she was of him. No doubt she would have been thrilled to find him on trial. "Here I thought things around here had started to relax. Fine then, Miss. Guest services."

Some might have been surprised to know that Fenrir was an early riser, but when he could get away with a decent night's rest, it was true—he tended to want to rise with the sun, not after it. Today was one such exceptional day, but instead of a boost to his energy, his start was an irritable one. It didn't help that his first few hours were not spent doing something physically demanding, as he preferred, but wasted with a business dispute. The only bright spot was that said dispute was now rotting in his hunting lodge. But he needed something better to distract himself and decided to leave his own corner of the woods. Greyback didn't often see the value in mingling with magicals, but every so often the buzz of background conversation came as a benefit. At least magicalkind knew, generally, to stay out of his way—emphasis on generally. It wasn't every day that he was directly addressed—particularly without fear—but recognition solved that mystery. She just didn't know better. They hadn't had the opportunity to be properly introduced. "I s'pose I'm not," he agreed, side of his mouth twitching with a smirk. "You know, I don't ever think I got your name."

It wasn't exactly surprising that Dirk had answered the door, given what he had heard from his subordinate, but he found himself giving a cursory glance for aurors just in case. Call him paranoid, but people didn't tend to enjoy it when he made house calls, and enjoyed it even less now that the war had quieted down. They had been more afraid when they didn't think their magical dognappers could solve all their problems—or rather, more productively afraid, willing to give into his demands. Some of them ended up coming around before they gave themselves another few bodies to deal with, but only some. "Evening," he answered, teeth bared as he spoke. It wasn't a threat, but it was a warning—the same he gave to everyone. If he didn't like what they said, or did... it was wholly possible he would bite. They were even less likely to survive the encounter when he wasn't Changed, as it happened. Transformed werewolves couldn't wield wands as well as teeth. But stepping into the hall, he was met with no attempt at an attack. He kept his guard up, as he always did, but made his way into the kitchen after Dirk without comment. If there were any enemies lurking about, they were the type to take their time. "Certainly," he said, making himself at home in a seat. He clearly had no issues imposing. "I'm sure you're aware by now why I'm here."