#madeyeinmotion

Dirk paid attention to people, it was polite and a great way to learn about them, he also needed to do the same with the Creatures and Beings he dealt with on a regular basis. So, even though he’d only seen the man do it once over a year ago, Dirk recalled a drink Mr. Moody had ordered and requested one to bring over when he went to say hi.

The bartender whipped it up and he clopped over to the man, the sound of his geta on the floor still making him smile. He hopped the last step, not a drop was spilt from either his champagne or Alastor’s ‘Old Fashioned’ he grinned up at the (much) taller man.

“Hi Mr. Moody!” He said, voice open and polite, “I saw you didn’t have a drink and remembered you like this one so I asked the bartender to make it, no idea what’s in it though... I think they used sugar.” Maybe he’d like it, he did like sweet things; in hindsight he should’ve taken a sip on the way over, oh well. 

“Here ya go!” he held the drink out, “Is your nice lady friend here with you as well?”

He’d made a promise to himself as his career took off; to never use his fame for unnecessary demands or help. Alexander was currently having a slight argument with himself to prove that he wasn’t overreacting to this and he should ask for help before things escalated any further. Sure he may have flashed a smile and a little more to the poor receptionist to get in here without an appointment but it was all happening quickly and he was, well... truth be told he was scared. 

And it wasn’t like he had anyone else he could think to turn to right now.

He was dressed in a plain robes, far from the usual colourful ones (or more popular skimpier outfits) he wore on stage, with his sunglasses sitting on the desk in front of him. He’d sat in the chair and aside from the nervous tapping of his foot hadn’t moved. Though his gaze shot over when the door opened and Alexander would be lying if he said he didn’t breath out a slight sigh of relief when Moody walked in; as grumpy as he was, the man felt like an impenetrable wall nothing could get past. 

“Good morning Mr. Moody,” he smiled, the expression charming, the voice low and pleasant and his overall demeanour a delight, even when he reigned his abilities in, even when he was trying to hide his fear, he couldn’t help being charismatic. “I’m so sorry to come here without notice but I... Well I think I need you help,” he abruptly turned and pointed to the man’s desk, “I brought honey cakes.” He remembered from the few Order meetings he’d been able to attend that the man had a fondness for them. 

It had been a slow day at the apothecary and Wendy couldn’t wait for closing time. She had already swept the entire store twice and had reorganized the shelves. The only customers that had wandered in were people still hungover from their St. Patrick’s Day celebration and night of drinking looking for ingredients for their hangover cures. And they certainly weren’t in the mood to hang around and talk, not that Wendy wanted them to. But sometimes the conversations that she had with customers were some of the only social interaction she got. She was used to living alone, preferred it to having to tell anyone the truth of what she was, but it still could be kind of lonely at times.

Glancing up when the bell above the door rang, she called out “Hello, I’ll be out in a minute,” as she grabbed a few more jars from the back room. She had noticed that they were a little low on Dragon’s Blood, so she figured that she would stock the shelves while nobody was there. Coming out into the main area of the store, she was confused to see Alastor Moody standing there. She recognized him from the papers and from the Ministry. “Can I help you?”

Hours. There was no clock in the room, likely by design, but Peter was sure he and Amelia Bones had talked for hours. Back and forth, question and answer, admittance, avoidance, justification. He’d made a choice coming here and now he’d see where it had got him. After the woman had left the room he’d waited hours more with no contact. Nothing to do save fidget nervously and chew on his dirty nails, already worn down to the nub. He was hungry, but that was a familiar feeling but this point and he was too nervous to ask for anything until he knew his fate. 

He’d argued well, every question he’d had an answer for, every verbal inquiry he’d met. He wasn’t sure if he’d rather another round of that over anymore waiting. He ran a hand through his long, greasy hair and scratched at his unkempt stubble. If he’d had his wand he’d set about repairing the holes in his clothes since there was no point hiding here, he could use his magic freely but, they’d taken that from him first thing. A way to prove who he was, and render him powerless, well, more-so than usual. 

His waiting came to end when the door opened but little light could enter past the tall, broad silhouette that stood in the doorway. A few steps more and Peter’s eyes widened in recognition though, for perhaps the first time, they didn’t immediately drop. Alastor Moody. As grim and imposing as ever. 

“S-so,” Peter’s breathy voice whispered, the tremble faint but noticeable, “I take it you’re here to tell me what happens next, Mr Moody?”