April 8th, 1888

Sundays were a relatively quiet day for the former Auror and whilst it could be argued that for one in retirement, every day could be considered quiet - it was Sundays that Argus found to be the most peaceful. There was a distinct - though reassuringly pleasant - absence of chaos around the streets of Hogsmeade that Argus Scrimgeour found quite appealing.

Most shops seemed to close early and it was generally accepted that Sundays were not a day with which one ought to work or otherwise exert themselves. It was a collective mindset of socially acceptable laziness and for the sixty-three year old, this was most welcome.

Argus had opted to wear one of his more casual suits as he had no engagements planned and felt he didn't need to dress up. So naturally, of course, a three piece dark grey suit with a silken lining was the only acceptable attire. His wand was tucked neatly into a small slit in his overcoat allowing him quick access should he need - not that spellcasting was on his agenda.

With a mind preoccupied on the behaviour of what he would consider to be his disgraced daughter, Argus sauntered down the highstreet; his gaze drifting between the shop windows and cafés. His intrigue was peaked earlier in the day when his wife mentioned a perfume she had heard about. Not being a learned man in the fine art of perfumery, Argus was more than a little blindsided by what exactly he was looking for. To him, all he thought to look for was some form of liquid in a glass container - and not the brown liquid he would drink on occasion.

He had decided to look for said perfume himself as he needed some time to think through things:

Annabelle consumed most of his thoughts.
Upon hearing the most recent gossip from the washed up gossip rag he definitely had better things to do than read, all Argus could think about was how his daughter was off doing whatever it was she wanted to do - drinking alcohol with strangers, frolicking through the night, and causing all sorts of trouble. And that did not sit well with him.

The rest of his thoughts, as they always were, were akin to a dark fog concealing a shadowed figure looming over him. Whilst he knew nobody was watching him, the Scrimgeour father couldn't shake the feeling from his soul; the very feeling that rendered him paranoid and fearful most of the time. He couldn't show it, however. That wouldn't be prudent.

So it very much made him jump when, whilst walking down the street with his eyes directed toward Padmore Park, he bumped into someone.

Noticeably startled, Argus let out a gruff harumph and began scolding the passerby (because, naturally, nothing was Argus' fault in his mind).

"You have eyes, do you not?" Argus scorned, his demeanour becoming almost rock-like; shaking off his rather obvious jump and patting down his suit, "You'd be wise to use them."

  

Ernest hadn't been paying particular attention to his surroundings at the moment, and so might have quite easily assumed that the fault for the collision lay with him, save for one fact. He hadn't even been walking at the time, but rather had stopped to peruse a display for a new book in the window of the nearby bookshop. He could hardly take the credit for running in to someone when he was standing still, and turned to give the man who had run into him an incredulous look. He recognized him easily. Although Mr. Scrimgeour was more of a fixture in his mother's generation than Ernest's own, it wasn't as though the society circles of the rich and pureblooded were so large that the two could fail to be acquainted, particularly given their shared club membership and similar professional backgrounds (in the Ministry, at least; Ernest did not actually feel his job had anything in common with the rather reckless and undignified profession of law enforcement, though would hardly say as much).

"Why, Mr. Scrimgeour, have you recently gone blind?" he retorted dryly. "I hadn't heard. How terribly inconvenient it must be to leave the burden of sight entirely on the other party as you walk down the street. Perhaps you ought to consider wearing some sort of sign, so that the uninformed know to give you a wider berth in the future."

The following 2 users Like Ernest Mulciber's post:2 users Like Ernest Mulciber's post
   Argus Scrimgeour, Bella Scrimgeour

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"Why, Mr. Scrimgeour, have you recently gone blind?" The man, whose voice Argus' could easily place to one Ernest Mulciber, spoke with a manner that could only be described as a child whom for a large portion of their life had never been taught that children ought be seen and not heard. Argus often argued not being seen either would be an ideal situation, however.

The two had never officially met beyond the odd social engagement and rare passing in the Ministry halls. To Argus' recollection, Ernest worked within the Department of Mysteries which, in the eyes of the retired auror, was nothing more than a crèche for those whose families demanded their untalented children work for the Ministry - and they had the wealth to make it happen. Nobody knew what went on within the department so it was a safe assumption to make, then, that nothing went on within the department. At least Argus did important work during his career, he thought.

When Ernest continued to ramble about Argus being blind (evidently, this was simply not true - it was as clear as day to Argus that Ernest just wasn't playing attention and had, in fact, caused the collision), Argus smiled politely and elected that in order to avoid further dispute and embarrassment on Mr. Mulcibers behalf, Argus would be the bigger man and let it slide. It was the only sensible thing to do.

"I see you have yet to break from your infantile... habits, Mr. Mulciber. But enough about that, I'm certain you did not mean for that to happen." He offered a curteous nod, "Am I right to assume you are still doing... whatever it is that department does? What was it, again? Playing with your wands until it's time to head back home?" Argus' tone was as polite as it always was and a small smile, indeterminate as to how sincere it was, had been placed on his lips.

"And how is your family, Mr. Mulciber? Well, I hope?" Argus opted to change the topic. He'd much rather not talk about his former career and, as much as he'd love to continue discussing Ernests career choices, it seemed inevitable Argus' job would come up.

  

Ernest could not recall ever having had a conversation of any length or any particular value with Mr. Scrimgeour before*, so he wasn't sure what the 'infantile' comment was meant to refer to. Perhaps a long overdue comment on the youthful mishaps that had led to Ernest's first marriage, he supposed, but if that was what Mr. Scrimgeour was trying to get at, he'd chosen his vocabulary poorly. There was nothing infantile about sexually ravaging a young woman in a closet.

*this was not to say that such a conversation had never taken place; only that if it had, Ernest had not found it particularly memorable. This would not have been unusual as he tended to think of most conversations that way, and to promptly forget them shortly after they were finished, or occasionally even before they were finished.

Choosing to ignore that first attempted insult entirely, Ernest turned his attention instead towards the belittling of his career choice, which was not an innovative remark in the slighest. He was used to being teased — both affably and maliciously — by those outside his department over the secrecy his job entailed. These remarks were usually made by men who were too stupid or too unimaginative to understand what he did, even were they permitted to know, so Ernest hardly troubled himself to be riled by such things. The response was almost reflexive, by now; he made a little tsk tsk noise with his mouth, as though he had caught the older man attempting to sneak a biscuit out of the kitchen jar, and said in a lightly chiding tone, "Mr. Scrimgeour, you know very well that's classified — well above the level permitted to a retiree. And my family is very well, thank you for asking — better, as I understand it, than yours, at present."

  

---

Certainly, Argus was wasting his time on this man. As sure as the sun set each evening, Argus was positive Ernest had some sort of head injury. He knew this because no person right in the mind would dare speak to their elder in the way Mr. Mulciber was speaking to Argus.

Argus had to inhale and straighten his suit at the words of Ernest whom no doubt had intended to berate the retired auror - the only word that had really stung him was the reference to his current career or, rather, lack thereof. Given the circumstance of the latter remark, were it any other person, perhaps Argus would have been offended at the mere notion their family situation was being gossipped about most negatively yet, and the way Argus saw it, Bella was not much more his daughter than a rock was a pet. Argus lost his second daughter when she was two months old and to him, the person who returned though shared her name and looks, was not the same person. Because of this, surely the rest of the world were also aware of this and thusly, rumours were just rumours.

Behind closed doors, Argus had been angrily writing letters to his disgraced daughter almost everyday. It was a hypocritical life Argus lived.

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Mulciber. Are you to insinuate you take heed in such baseless rumours?" Argus shook his head as if to tut; the same way a teacher would to a child eating glue or drawing on a wall; and started to walk forward, brushing past Ernest with his left shoulder, "I never took you as one to read into petty gossip. Though I'm not surprised you find enjoyment in that kind of business."

Stopping just past Ernest, the sixty-three year old turned on the balls of his feet and smiled politely, "Do send my regards to your wife and I hope she is in good health. And your children, too."

Argus turned to walk away with his own sense of righteousness (though it could be disputed that Argus had no idea on the actual definition of that word). His ears, however, remained open to anything Ernest had to say.

  

Ernest had no desire to delay the man's departure in the slightest, and so merely shrugged off the comment regarding listening to gossip. He was, in fact, hardly one to care about such things, which made the fact that he had heard the rumors all the more telling. Ernest didn't tend to learn about things until they were long since considered common knowledge, and even he had heard that one of the Scrimgeour daughters was cavorting about with (possibly eloping with?) a laze-about bachelor.

"I'll do that, thank you," he said, returning his attention to the store window he'd been perusing. "And give my best wishes to your new son-in-law, when you meet him."

  

---

It could have been said, rather easily, that Argus never got on with Ernest. Their personal relationship was non-existent and professional relationship could best be described as the relationship between a wave and a cliffside; not particularly interesting but did get exciting every now and then.

To the bystander, perhaps these two were just bickering men.

To Argus, Ernest was just irritating and undeserving of his position in life. Without so much as acknowledging Mr Mulcibers words, for Argus knew Bella was not stupid enough to do anything like that - however impulsive she may have been - Argus simply continued on his way.

She wouldn't dare do anything like that, would she?

FIN.