With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
Milo Baskerville readjusted his tortoiseshell colored glasses with his middle finger, pushing them further up his nose as he pulled a book out from the shelve, making sure that the price tag was still in place. As he shuffled around the room, the young man hummed under his nose, albeit very off key.
Indeed, it was raining outside, but it was no Sunday. Wednesday, I think? Should be getting a new shipment of quills later today-- Oh, wait, no, we had that yesterday, today's Thursday then. Yes, yes, indeed! He tapped on the small calendar that was hanging behind the age old cash register.
He continued to make his rounds through the bookstore, getting everything ready for the day. The doors would be unlocked very soon, and there were already a few people outside of the windows, no doubt pining for the newest romantic bestseller.
Ah, one day it'll be my books they'll be getting in line for. Good books, not this sappy drivel meant for housewives. The state of modern literature, I swear...
A few more minutes later he had settled behind the information desk, ready to assist avid book readers in search for their next pocket sized adventure. There was an old, tattered notebook laying on his desk, full of scribbles and hastily drawn diagrams -- if nobody would need his help, he would retreat back into his head, hunting yet another idea.
Post by EMMA MOUNTBATTEN-SMYTHE on Feb 15, 2020 18:17:53 GMT
Emma was in a bit of a rush, which was by no means usual for her. Typically, the brunette liked to be well prepared for each and every eventuality, since, in either of her lines of work, unpleasant surprises were the last thing that a girl wanted, whether that might be unexpectedly horrible questions posed by opposing counsel, or whether it was the sudden arrival of a team of Aurors at a warehouse containing various materials of dubious legality. In either case, the circumstances could be dealt with and the impact mitigated, but it was clearly preferable not to have to.
Today, she'd left late, and had as a consequence neglected to pick up a fairly vital book without which she seldom ventured out into the professional world. Admittedly, she could probably have coped without it, but, for all her abilities, Emma was somewhat given to superstition, and so if she could have it with her then she was absolutely going to. Walking briskly down Diagon Alley, she paused to glance into the window of Flourish and Blott's, noting with satisfaction that it was open, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She hadn't the time to scour the shelves, especially since she had a morbid distrust for any reference system employed by a popular bookshop, and so she simply made her way across to the desk. "Excuse me," she began, flashing a dazzling smile at the man behind it. "I wonder if you could help?"
As soon as the door opened, the first costumers of the day started pouring in just like the rain they'd been under. Milo took a deep breath and braced himself for a long day of unwanted interactions. You see, Milo didn't like this job. There was nothing wrong with Flourish and Blotts -- he loved the bookstore itself, and his coworkers were alright. It was the costumers.
Sure, most of the interactions he had with them were brief and forgettable, but then there were those that got under his skin with their stupid opinions or their belief that they knew everything better than the employee they'd enlisted to help, or, worse, old people who needed everything to be repeated five times over at a snail's pace. And children. Milo didn't know how to talk to children.
But the young man needed this job, so he stepped on his discomfort and pushed it down, trying his best to be nice and accommodating to every type of costumer, even the ones that made him want to rip his own hair out right then and there. So, when someone approached his desk, he put on a bright smile and started his usual routine.
"How may I help you to-" his words got lodged somewhere in his throat when he looked up. His costumer was a young woman, and, good heavens above, Milo wasn't sure if a beauty like that was even real. Had he hit his head at some point and was now hallucinating? He quickly cleared his throat, Get a grip on yourself, man!, and finished his sentence. "Today?"
Post by EMMA MOUNTBATTEN-SMYTHE on Mar 15, 2020 12:34:15 GMT
Emma raised an eyebrow, spending a moment deciding whether to be irritated or amused before realising that she didn't really have the time to be either and merely settling for a nod in greeting. "I was wondering if you could tell me where you'd moved your legal section to." It was a statement, not a question- asking questions when it wasn't strictly necessary made one appear to lack confidence, and that was something which Emma had never suffered. Even if she had, she would long since have developed the habits necessary to cover the weakness. Nothing was more fatal to a career in either of the spheres which she occupied.
The man behind the desk, she privately decided, was more than a little slow. She hoped she wouldn't need to repeat herself too often to get the message through to him; she had neither the time nor the patience. There were many situations in which Emma was perfectly capable of exercising patience; in court, for example, or else whilst helping to conduct her father's business with various contemporaries- with subordinates, she was of the opinion that patience was neither necessary nor desirable. In that case, she took the view that if you wanted something done, you had better be damned clear about it, and then no one could complain if you were more than a touch harsh when, inevitably, it wasn't done properly. "Do you think you could manage that?" she enquired in her sweetest tone. Honestly, she wasn't convinced.
