Long sunny days can lead to lazy vices
Boys all that I know all left to their own devices

February 24th, 1890 — Alfred's Flat, London

Alfred had contemplated calling this off, after his run-in with Zelda the other day. He would have had good reason, considering he may have even now been dying from a curse and no one could really tell him much about it, one way or the other. He'd written the Ministry asking what he ought to do — whether there was someplace he could go and get checked for things, or if he ought to be doing anything differently — but he'd only just learned he was in danger on Friday, and the Ministry didn't do shit on the weekends, even if it was a matter of life or death.

Ultimately, though, he didn't have any proof that he was any different than he had been in December. Nothing had happened to him, and he hadn't noticed any changes. If he was contagious, he had no way of knowing that — and it would be the Ministry's fault if he ended up spreading Pictish curses to half of London, since they were taking such a bloody long time about finding anything out. So he'd decided to leave it up to Miss Smith; if she wanted to take precautions, she could, and he wouldn't have to have spreading the curse to her on his conscious. Something told him that she wasn't one to be guided by an overabundance of caution, though, and so he wasn't expecting her to bow out. She hadn't disappointed on that front.

He was all nerves Monday morning. He had no idea what was going to happen when she got here. He wasn't sure what she wanted from this meeting, and he'd been trying to retrace their last conversation for the past two days to figure out exactly how confident he was that she'd really been flirting with him. His efforts to find out more about her after they'd met were mostly foiled. It seemed that no one knew much about her, given that she'd spent most of her time out of the country. Go figure. He wished he'd had less to drink when they'd last talked, so that he would have picked up on more, but there was nothing to do about that.

He had bottles of beer ready for her arrival, that he'd had in the icebox since they'd planned the last meeting. That seemed like an increasingly bad idea, the longer he thought about it, but he couldn't just get rid of them. He was worried that they would only exacerbate a phenominon he'd noticed in their first meeting, however: that when he was talking to her, the conversation just seemed to move of its own accord, like a snowball picking up speed and growing larger as it rolled downhill. He'd frequently found himself wondering how they'd gotten to a certain topic last time, and he was concerned that here in his flat — where there were significantly fewer boundaries on what they could get away with — and aided once again by alcohol — well, all bets were off.

It was early afternoon when the floo lit up green, and Alfred steeled himself. No going back now, Merlin help him.

Jupiter Smith

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   Jupiter Smith

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Following the dramatics of last week Jo needed a drink with a friend. The few flirtations she engaged in since her last impromptu outing with Captain Darrow didn't measure up to the ease she felt when talking to him. Which, truthfully, wasn't shocking given how little travel experience most Englishmen had but still. They could've made an effort to be mildly interesting.

She lounged in bed well after what was thought of proper — noon, maybe? Jo had so few opportunities to linger in bed that when they arose she seized them wholeheartedly. Saturn mocked her endlessly for it, but even he enjoyed this rare opportunity to relax and focus on his novel. Even he had to admit a few weeks of calm was sorely needed for them both, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances that created such an opportunity.

The address was easy enough to speak, not some cockamamie street name with a handful of unnecessary letters (not for the first time Jo wondered why English citizens deemed it necessary to be so extra). Then, she was standing in the unfamiliar flat surrounded by green smoke. Merlin, how she despised the floo network. What was so wrong with walking somewhere?

"Hello." Jo greeted with a grin. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting. We never specified a time..."

  

Alfred smiled in greeting as she appeared from the flames. Her hair was down this time. He wasn't sure what to make of that. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to make something of it. It was unusual to see women with their hair down out and about on the streets of London, but it wasn't as though she'd shown up only partially clothed. Was she trying to send some sort of message or set a certain tone, or was he reading too far into things? It could easily have been the latter. He was overthinking everything about today.

"The Ministry's kept me waiting since January," he pointed out. "I'm used to it by now. But no, you didn't. I just had lunch a few minutes ago — but I could put something together if you're hungry?" he offered, with a vague nod towards the kitchen. His flatmate and he didn't have a cook or a housekeeper, so their homemade meals were more meager than most, but they did at least have a stocked kitchen. While Alfred wouldn't have said he was a good cook, he could put a few things together into a passably tasty meal when he had to — though his limited repertoire did get repetitive. Not that he anticipated she would be coming over often enough to notice.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

While Jo didn't like being compared to the ministry (a grey place with even greyer people) she supposed she couldn't hold it against him given the recent news. She too would be reliant upon dark humor to survive such unfortunate circumstances. It was one thing to remain stationary somewhat willingly, it was a complete other to be trapped due to the failings of external forces. Were she in his shoes she would harass the employees until being forcibly removed, and even that might not be sufficient. Where there's a will there's a way.

Jo knocked whatever remaining dust off her dress and moved further away from the fireplace. Her attention immediately drawn to the nautical charts opposite her. Sailing had never been her forte, but it wasn't because of a lack of interest. Most captains fought her to remain on certain decks at certain times. Whether it was because of superstition or not wanting the crew to become distracted she generally didn't fight it. She was simply happy to be aboard at all.

"I'm okay, thanks." She said as she glanced back towards him. "How do you read those?" Jo asked abruptly, gesturing towards the charts.

  

"Oh," Alfred said, pleasantly surprised that she had taken an interest in the charts. They were older versions, and not in use aboard anymore, so he'd used them to add a little hint of color to the otherwise quite sparsely furnished (and even more sparsely decorated) front room. He hardly noticed them any more, but when she pointed them out it distracted him immediately from the concerns that had been floating around his head all morning. Talking about sailing tended to do that fairly reliably.

"Here, I'll show you," he said, rising from the sofa and crossing towards where the charts were hung. "So these numbers here are soundings — measurements of how deep the water is at that particular point. Always measured at low tide. These are older, though; it's shallower now, because of the silt buildup over the past decade. But this line here," he said, tracing out a fine ink line with his fingertip, "Was put in by the navigator to indicate shoal water — water that's too shallow for his ship, where she would've run aground. This sign here means rocks, and this is a sandbar," he continued, indicating each feature as he pointed it out. "This circle here is a reference so you can figure bearings — that's the angle between your ship and a landmark, like this lighthouse. The navigator might say 'turn when the lighthouse bears 2-4-0,' for example, and then you've got a lookout keeping track of the lighthouse who marks when you're there."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

She watched with rapt attention as he explained, eyes tracing over the different lines and marks. The intricacies of the chart weren't entirely dissimilar to the treasure map she'd found two weeks ago. The aged treasure map used a quadrant system Jo still hadn't quite figured out. Though, the longer she sat on it the more she became convinced there was some magical aspect its path. Well traveled streets didn't simply disappear in a city as ancient as London. They just didn't.

"How are the depths measured?" Jo looked back towards him as she spoke. If they were standing too close for comfort Jo didn't realize it, as she was only trying to take in the various lines of the map.

  

Alfred chuckled at her question. "That's actually not as exciting as you might think. It's nothing fancy at all. They send two blokes out in a rowboat with an anchor and a long line, and they toss it down and see how long the line is when it stops." There was a bit more to it than that, but not much. The line they used was weighted so that it didn't drift aimlessly in the tide and give a false measurement, and it was marked every fathom to make it easy to measure when pulling it back up. One of the men had to have some navigational prowess, because the boat had to be in exactly the right spot when the line was cast or else the sounding would be useless — but really, those were all quite trivial details. The answer, basically, was that they just counted.

"There are some ways of mapping it out magically, but they're not very efficient," he continued with a shrug. "They use them in some highly trafficked ports where the measurements change pretty often — Port Said is like that, in Egypt. But for almost everywhere else in the world, the old fashioned Muggle way works just as well."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Such simplicity for such a complex system. Muggles truly were accomplished given their handicap in life. To be able to chart the waters more efficiently than wizards was a feat they weren't meant to accomplish. "An anchor and a long line?" She repeated somewhat incredulously. "I never would've guessed it was that simple." Jo looked towards the charts again and traced over a few of the lines.

"Perhaps when we're off charting the magical isles you'll be able to show me the system in use." A bit bold, perhaps, but she hadn't stopped thinking about such an adventure since it was first mentioned. Jo was determined to one day explore them, even if Captain Darrow wasn't accompanying her.

  

Alfred's face broke out into another wide grin when she mentioned the prospect of an upcoming expedition. He hadn't openly talked about his desire to go back and accomplish the mission the Sycorax had set out to do to anyone before her, and he wasn't even sure why he'd brought it up to her. He assumed anyone hearing him talk about it would think he was crazy. Even Pablo, who was on board with most of his plans, wouldn't necessarily be keen to revisit South America after their trek through the wilderness where they had faced the possibility of death on a daily basis. Every time that she mentioned it in an even remotely positive way, though, it sent a little rush of adrenaline and anticipation through him. He wanted to go back, and being around her and hearing her say things like that made him think it might actually be a possibility, some day.

"I'll do that," he agreed heartily. "Though it won't be any more exciting in person, I promise. Mostly what you'll see is a lot of taking bearings and making notes." He noticed, for the first time, that they were standing very close together. Had he done that when he'd crossed to where the charts were, or had she? He couldn't remember. Did it matter? He wasn't sure.

"What does archaeology look like in person?" he asked, while wondering if he should back away some. Probably — particularly now that his attention was on her instead of the wall, they seemed far too close for the bounds of propriety — but he didn't want to make it seem as though he was obviously trying to get away from her, or anything.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

He hadn't balked, that was as good a sign as any. "Even so. It'll be interesting to see it in practice." She grinned. Despite having been firmly placed in Gryffindor (or so the hat determined less than twenty seconds after being placed upon her head) Jo had a natural affinity for learning. When a subject was intriguing enough she would devote all her time to studying it, as had been the case with her ancient studies at school.

Not so much with herbology.

"Archaeology is mostly cautiously sifting through dirt." She said as she moved to sit on the sofa opposite from where he'd been when she entered. "Every rock is examined on the off chance that it's part of something more. Sometimes we discover a rare artifact or something that alters our view of what we knew, but really it's mostly hours of kneeling in the dirt." And yet, Jo yearned for the warm dirt beneath her more than anything else.

  

The words she was using didn't make it sound particularly appealing, but there was something about her tone that made it obvious she enjoyed the work. It was probably the same way he talked about something as trivial as taking soundings, he realized. Maybe that was why it was so easy to talk to her; she was just as passionate about something as he was, and it was something that made just as little sense to the rest of the civilized world.

"Thrilling," he joked with a wry smile. "Perhaps you'll get a chance to show me someday, too." There was no promise that an expedition, even if she did accompany them, would provide an opportunity for doing archaeology digs, but there was supposed to be some sort of potential for scientific discovery on expeditions. That was the entire point of bringing along all the botanists, magizoologists, naturalists, and the like.

The proximity between the two of them was untenable; he had to do something about it. If he stayed here he was going to end up touching her sooner or later, and he shouldn't do that. Unfortunately the only excuse to move that came to mind was to go and fetch a drink, which meant he was introducing alcohol into their little rendezvous sooner than he probably should. "I got beer, as promised," he said, turning away from her to head towards the kitchen. "Do you want a glass, or just the bottle?"

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Excavations took months — if not years of steady and careful work. One odd discovery had the potential to extend the length of the dig exponentially. Hell, Jo had resided in Venezuela for over seven months and they had only just started making real headway the last few weeks. It pained her immensely to leave, but there was no negotiating with the news she received. Aaron was dead, Mars needed her. (When had Mars ever needed her?) For now, archaeology needed to be on the back burner. For now, it had to exist only in her joyful memories. "Perhaps so." Jo returned wistfully.

With her legs curled beneath her, Jo leaned into the corner of the sofa as she further took in the meager room. Having never seen his ship (or, if she had that day on the docks she hadn't taken note of it enough to commit it to memory) she had no frame of reference for his wealth, but she would've believed an author and captain to be more comfortable than this. Sailing hadn't ever seemed as a particularly lucrative industry, she supposed. Not that she had a leg to stand on herself, being a bloody archaeologist. Any money she made was put into further travel expenses. Still, shouldn't a captain have some sort of profit?

"A bottle is fine, I'm not fancy." She called back. A drink sounded great right about now. How could he fund an expedition as expansive as charting magical isles if his income was this low? No wonder it took years to arrange.

  

Alfred grabbed two bottles from the ice box and returned to the front room, handing her one. "Yeah, we're clearly not fancy here, either," he said, with a vague acknowledgement of the room around them. He'd slept aboard the Voyager for months when he returned to England, and that was where most of his money went; he'd gotten the flat almost as an afterthought so that he didn't have to spend winter nights sleeping in a floating bedroom on the icy Thames. "But it didn't make a lot of sense to go out and buy a bunch of nice things when I was planning to spend more than half my time out to sea." The bedroom was a bit better furnished, but — well, he wasn't just going to invite her to the bedroom. That would be setting him up for trouble.

After having taken a seat on the sofa next to her (but with more distance between them than previously), Alfred tried to turn the conversation back to where it had been a moment ago. "So do you have a separate wardrobe for when you're working? A whole closet full of dresses with dirt stains on the knees?" he speculated. "Or are you really good at cleaning spells? Because you don't look like someone who spends all day in the mud," he teased lightly.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Perhaps sailing was more lucrative than she now believed, though likely not by much. If anything, they would need outside investors to finance the expedition, and such financing came with limitations and expectations. Jo resisted a heavy sigh as she considered the implications. To afford the trip independently it would, as he said, take years to turn into reality. She knew she was likely to be in England far longer than she liked this time around, but not years. Even months felt like an eternity.

Jo took the beer offered with a gracious smile. Regardless of his financial status, he was still more of a friend to her as of late than most of her actual friends. While she was mildly disappointed by the sad realities of the expedition, she was still incredibly interested in getting to know him. "That's fair. I haven't even thought to look for lodgings outside of my parents' home since I'm here so infrequently." In fact, with the exception of Mars' and Earth's belongings being missing, her room looked exactly as it had when she was a young girl.

A laugh escaped her as she thought of all her ruined dresses. "Most of my wardrobe was packed in my trunks on the Serena." she began to explain. "Generally, yes. I'm proficient at many cleaning charms. Even still there's some stains that will never come out. Mother insists I leave a few dresses home so I have something appropriate to wear when here. Which helped this time around."

  

Alfred blinked in surprise when she mentioned the Serena. "You still haven't gotten your trunks back?" he asked. Their first meeting on the pier seemed like ages ago — probably because he had mostly been doing nothing in the meantime, but still. It had been weeks, and it couldn't be that hard to track down a ship in port — unless someone was making things difficult intentionally. Was that what had happened here? Someone onboard the Serena had just up and stolen her things? What a bunch of crooks! Alfred was offended both for her sake and for his own; this sort of thing was the reason his profession had such a bad reputation in society at large.

"Here, hold this a minute," he said, handing her his beer bottle without waiting for an answer and exiting the room. He went to his room and retrieved a sheaf of parchment and a self-inking quill, then returned to the front room where he set those items down on the small coffee table. He took a seat on the floor — really the only comfortable option given the height of the table — and started to write.

"What all is missing?" he asked, without looking up at her.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Tracking down the Serena hadn't proved easy. The captain, it seemed, was sailing along the coast of England towaeds the Hebrides, but he also hadn't stopped in every port. And the port operators weren't exactly being helpful, either. They blinked at her dumbly and announced how the Serena had already moved on to an unknown destination or they had no knowledge of such a ship.

Condensation dripped off the bottle he handed her into her dress as she processed what exactly was happening. Was he going to track them down for her? "Oh, erm..." It wasn't as though she had an inventory of what was in her trunks, and she had packed in such a haste she was certain at least some of her belongings had been left behind. A handful of dresses? Some trousers? The few relics none deemed necessary... "A few dresses, blouses and trousers. I'm not sure how many to be exact...four dresses, maybe? A silver mirror. A large stack of notebooks..." Jo chewed the inside of her lip as she tried to recount what exactly was missing and what was still waiting for her in Venezuela. "Some odd relics, nothing valuable I would say."