Post by Jason Scotts on Nov 19, 2014 20:51:57 GMT -8
Thursday, January 1, 2009, 10:00 a.m.
It would be hard for anyone who had known Jason beforehand as an accomplished Quidditch player, a chaser on the London Quidditch team to be exact, or as a mediocre Death Eater to recognize the man that waited in front of the well-known and recognizable wizarding bank, Gringott’s. His brown hair was matted and, considering he hadn’t cut his hair for a few weeks before he had mysteriously disappeared from the Malfoy Mansion ten nights ago, a little longer, laying flat and untamed against his pale face. His eyes were vacant and the bags beneath his eyes even more noticeable than when he had left. He had had little opportunity to sleep in his time hiding in Knockturn Alley and various dark alleyways throughout Diagon Alley. Every little noise made him jerk himself awake and draw his wand. He was paranoid as hell; there was no denying that.
The man’s black clothing was soiled. He hadn’t taken the chance to be seen in public or anywhere his former "comrades" might appear, and there were only so many places around here where he could relieve himself without being noticed and chased off. Resultantly, he smelled. Badly. Anyone who looked at him wouldn’t see a Quidditch star, or at least Jason hoped not. His picture would be all over the tabloids and Witch Weekly, his rep ruined and cover blown. Why he didn’t just head for another country was beyond him, but he figured if he wasn’t going to have the comforts as home, he may as well be somewhere he recognized and was familiar with. Easier to hide and maneuver through. Hopefully he would be mistaken as the average bum running off before someone he knew could take a good look at him.
The man looked down at his stomach, clutching it in his hand and shaking his head as it grumbled loudly. His money he’d brought with him had run out five days ago, leaving him with no way to bribe people into going to get him food and then to forget they ever saw him. Silence cost a pretty penny, Jason was discovering. That was the only reason he was risking being seen in public at all, much less like this. He needed food, desperately, if he was going to live. To get food, he needed money, and this was where it was the most easily obtained. He had, however, had the wherewithal to have a private account set up at a wizarding bank in another wizarding city, setting it up under a false name: Marcus L. Montague. He figured he would secretly wire the funds to that account, being sure that the goblin with which he dealt was a pushover, easily bought to disobey the laws of the fiche that may or may not have been placed on his account. Easier said than done, of course, for goblins were stubborn creatures and strictly abode by the rules of honor in their area of specialty: money. Maybe he could use the Imperius and then after the funds were released (mysteriously unrecorded), he would simply use the Confundus to confuse the goblin and render him unable to ever recall what had happened. Yes, that was what he’d do.
He looked down at the goblin that approached the doors, glancing sternly and suspiciously up at the man in black. Jason gave a barely visible smile, following the goblin in. Other goblins soon followed in behind him, manning their stations as Jason walked over to one of the tables, pulling out a paper slip and scribbling his account number and name at the top as well as an approximation of the funds he needed. He had quite a bit in there, enough to sustain him for quite some time—one of the benefits of being a single man with no one to support but himself who usually bummed off the generosity of others or the team. However, as he stood there debating how much he could remove per trip here without being much noticed, others filed in, filling in their own slips and getting into line. He was almost finished with his slip when he glanced up, recognizing the person who just walked through the doors and was heading straight towards him. Nervously, his heart catching in his throat, he looked aside, bringing his hand up to the side of his face to try to block himself from view. He doubted it would work, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?
It would be hard for anyone who had known Jason beforehand as an accomplished Quidditch player, a chaser on the London Quidditch team to be exact, or as a mediocre Death Eater to recognize the man that waited in front of the well-known and recognizable wizarding bank, Gringott’s. His brown hair was matted and, considering he hadn’t cut his hair for a few weeks before he had mysteriously disappeared from the Malfoy Mansion ten nights ago, a little longer, laying flat and untamed against his pale face. His eyes were vacant and the bags beneath his eyes even more noticeable than when he had left. He had had little opportunity to sleep in his time hiding in Knockturn Alley and various dark alleyways throughout Diagon Alley. Every little noise made him jerk himself awake and draw his wand. He was paranoid as hell; there was no denying that.
The man’s black clothing was soiled. He hadn’t taken the chance to be seen in public or anywhere his former "comrades" might appear, and there were only so many places around here where he could relieve himself without being noticed and chased off. Resultantly, he smelled. Badly. Anyone who looked at him wouldn’t see a Quidditch star, or at least Jason hoped not. His picture would be all over the tabloids and Witch Weekly, his rep ruined and cover blown. Why he didn’t just head for another country was beyond him, but he figured if he wasn’t going to have the comforts as home, he may as well be somewhere he recognized and was familiar with. Easier to hide and maneuver through. Hopefully he would be mistaken as the average bum running off before someone he knew could take a good look at him.
The man looked down at his stomach, clutching it in his hand and shaking his head as it grumbled loudly. His money he’d brought with him had run out five days ago, leaving him with no way to bribe people into going to get him food and then to forget they ever saw him. Silence cost a pretty penny, Jason was discovering. That was the only reason he was risking being seen in public at all, much less like this. He needed food, desperately, if he was going to live. To get food, he needed money, and this was where it was the most easily obtained. He had, however, had the wherewithal to have a private account set up at a wizarding bank in another wizarding city, setting it up under a false name: Marcus L. Montague. He figured he would secretly wire the funds to that account, being sure that the goblin with which he dealt was a pushover, easily bought to disobey the laws of the fiche that may or may not have been placed on his account. Easier said than done, of course, for goblins were stubborn creatures and strictly abode by the rules of honor in their area of specialty: money. Maybe he could use the Imperius and then after the funds were released (mysteriously unrecorded), he would simply use the Confundus to confuse the goblin and render him unable to ever recall what had happened. Yes, that was what he’d do.
He looked down at the goblin that approached the doors, glancing sternly and suspiciously up at the man in black. Jason gave a barely visible smile, following the goblin in. Other goblins soon followed in behind him, manning their stations as Jason walked over to one of the tables, pulling out a paper slip and scribbling his account number and name at the top as well as an approximation of the funds he needed. He had quite a bit in there, enough to sustain him for quite some time—one of the benefits of being a single man with no one to support but himself who usually bummed off the generosity of others or the team. However, as he stood there debating how much he could remove per trip here without being much noticed, others filed in, filling in their own slips and getting into line. He was almost finished with his slip when he glanced up, recognizing the person who just walked through the doors and was heading straight towards him. Nervously, his heart catching in his throat, he looked aside, bringing his hand up to the side of his face to try to block himself from view. He doubted it would work, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?
