May 9th, 1891 - Outside The Three Broomsticks

Benji had lived in Hogsmeade his whole life, but sometimes he fantasized about quitting his job and moving literally anywhere else. This was one of those times, because it was such a weird owl to get, and it was the middle of the day, and obviously everyone else was busy because Benji wasn't anyone's first choice for talking people out of burning down The Three Broomsticks.

Of course, it wasn't really a person. Apparently it was a ghost, trying to goad passers-by into burning down the Broomsticks. Also, apparently the Ministry would be there sooner or later, which was — probably going to be a pain. Benji had worked for the Ministry, but that had been ages ago, and now that he got their cast-off cases most of the time he wasn't exactly a big fan.

If this hadn't been Benji's problem, he probably would have found it very funny. As it was, he was rather unamused on his stroll from the Constabulary to the broomsticks, and — there he was, a ghost with a rapier sticking out of him, yelling at random people. Benji came to a stop and leaned against the latest gaslamp, for ambiance.

"You really shouldn't be doing that," Benji said, resting his hand on his handcuffs as if that would help him here. Was he going to have to find a pair of ghost handcuffs? He should be paid more. Now he was going to have to talk to one of those Ministry fucks sooner or later, and defend a pub that should have been his by birthright. "It's disturbing the peace, it is."

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Barnaby Wye Fortitude Greengrass
Elias Grimstone Reuben Crouch

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   Barnaby Wye, Fortitude Greengrass

“Now, come,” Barnaby wheedled, at the next live ‘un who passed by just outside the damned inn’s front windows, “will thou not set it alight?” No, no, a paltry choice; it may be that child was too young to carry a wand. Aha, but here was another patron about to set foot in the -

Oh, no, he was not. He had stopped at one of those standing lanterns, and had his hand upon a pair of manacles, as if that was supposed to be a threat. Barnaby closed his mouth for a moment, and just shot the newcomer a mystified look. ‘Twas none of his business, surely?

“And what of my peace?” Barnaby protested grandly, resting his folded arms on the convenient ledge provided by his rapier-hilt. “I say that place is disturbing me.”

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   Benjamin Woodcroft

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Benji glanced up at The Three Broomsticks, and then back at the ghost. He found the 3BS plenty disturbing, but he was pretty sure that if he was related to a ghost floating around Hogsmeade, he would have heard of it by now. Most non-Benji people found The Three Broomsticks to be a fine establishment, and did not exactly publicly encourage its arson.

Obviously, because the ghost hadn't convinced anyone yet.

"We can't have you encouraging arson out here," Benji suggested, "It's — distressing to the citizenry." Sure.

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Being the on-call spirit division personnel for the weekend usually meant nothing. There were very few situations that arose with people who had been dead for decades or centuries that needed to be resolved immediately. Of course the one weekend where he felt least inclined to do any work was the one where something would come up, though. Ford supposed he should have been grateful that it was today and not yesterday, when he had been fighting a hangover as well as grappling with his not-insignificant amount of feelings over Valerian Macnair's sudden engagement. That didn't mean he was happy to be here, though, and he was hoping things could resolve themselves quickly so that he could go back to — sulking in his bedroom, which was actually all he'd been doing so far today except for family meals.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't much of a walk from home at all, so he was there within a few minutes of having gotten the owl from the Ministry. The dispatch had been scarce on details, though, and Ford was somewhat surprised to see a familiar floating face as the prime antagonist. Not surprised because it was out of character for him, particularly, but only because Ford hadn't put enough thought into it yet to realize that he probably could have guessed which spirit was trying to incite arson on High Street.

" 'Distressing to the citizenry'?" Ford repeated incredulously to the man engaging with Wye — one of the constables? He seemed vaguely familiar, probably from Ford having passed him in the street in the year and a half since they'd come to live here. "Would you say that if he were a living person, just talking to folks who passed by?" He suspected the answer was no, which was why he'd asked it. It made him a little irate when people treated spirits as though they had less right to exist than living people did, though he was aware that he would probably need to side with the constable sooner or later here in order to deescalate the situation.

Speaking of which, Ford glanced over at Wye and added a simple, "Good day, then."

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Set by Lady!

“And when that foul tavern is consumed in flames, a fitting pyre for itself, you will have an end to my exhortations -” naturally he would shut his mouth when the deed was done. And that is perchance the only way I shall stop, Barnaby was about to add - but did not need to argue his case, as it turned out, for here was just the man to do the job for him.

Defending his case, that was. Mayhaps the burning, too. They would see. He smirked pointedly at the constable - until Greengrass glanced his way and he affected perfect innocence instead.

“Greengrass,” Barnaby declared brightly, giving him a nod. “Well met.”

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Oh, good, now the aforementioned Ministry fuck was here. Benji made an expression best described as 'baffled,' first at the man's words, and then at Wye's knowing him. Were they messing with him? Was this a bit?!

Usually he was much better-natured, but The Three Broomticks brought out his worst qualities. Benji exhaled a dramatic sigh. "If he was living I'd bring him into the constabulary for an afternoon," he pointed out, with a wave towards his handcuffs. Just the afternoon, because Benji was not actually sure how much of this was a crime, but it was disruptive.

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On any other day Ford might have taken the melodramatic sigh as a sign that he ought to cut it out and start resolving this conflict, before the constable got impatient with him. Today, though, he was so miserable and irritated himself that his first thought was good, other people deserved to be a little miserable and irritated, too. Nevermind that he didn't know the constable and maybe he didn't deserve to have to put up with this.

"Best not," he responded lightly. "He might enjoy that. Far more than you'd enjoy having him, I'd bet." Actually, on reflection it was surprising that the constabulary wouldn't have been a regular haunt for any of the Hogsmeade ghosts who were frequently frustrated by their inability to detain living people for conversation. Whoever was in the cells would provide a captive audience. That sounded like a Spirit Division complaint waiting to happen — listen, we just wanted to lock them up, not subject them to this bloke. This is cruel and unusual punishment, and he won't leave.

Wye was harmless, though, really; he just wanted someone to talk to, at least in Ford's experience, or occasionally someone to read him centuries-old epic poems for an hour straight. This particular fixation was new, though. With a slight frown, Ford turned his attention to the ghost and asked, "You're trying to find someone to burn down the Broomsticks, then?" Best ensure he had the story straight before he tried to start in on conflict resolution.

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   Benjamin Woodcroft

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Set by Lady!

Barnaby tilted his head curiously at the thought of being brought to the constabulary - or, well, going of his own free will, because there was no way he could conceive that mangy fellow was going to wrest him into livings’ handcuffs, or so much as down the street. But perhaps he could trail along after him just to rub that point in, give an audience to his crime-catching; and Barnaby was being sarcastic here, because as far as he could see no proper crime had been committed yet.

But Greengrass was asking him something, so Barnaby floated up a little, bouncing as if he could on the balls of his feet. “Yes,” Barnaby said, perfectly affably. “It’s a loathsome place. A simple spell should do it.” He shot the building a dirty look over his shoulder, willing it to spontaneously combust if he could not convince Greengrass to do it - though he did not give any further explanation either, a little distracted from his honourable pursuit by another curiosity.

“What’s his name, then?” Barnaby added, with a slight air of and who does he think he is. As if his subject was not obvious, he pulled the ghost-rapier out from his ribs and used it to point carelessly at the disagreeable lamp-leaner, aiming it vaguely under his chin (not that it could do anything if he plunged it further; not that he had ruled it out). Barnaby probably could have asked this question of the constable himself, but he did not always deign to talk to people he didn’t like.

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Benji had sort of hoped that the Spirit Division fellow would have a faster solution here, but the solution seemed to be talking. Normally Benji was much more inclined to talking — he wasn't eager to arrest anyone, see exhibit a: the redhead he kept running into — but the Three Broomsticks had his metaphorical hackles up. Also alright, okay — maybe he thought ghosts were a little creepy, outside of Hogwarts. Especially when they were pointing their murder weapons at him. Benji took a side step, away from the lamp, and frowned.

"Benjamin Woodcroft," he offered, although he didn't want to, and the question hadn't been asked of him.. His eyes flicked between the Ministry fellow and the ghost. "What did the Broomsticks ever do to you, anyways?"

If anyone ought to be getting people to burn down the place it should be Benji, although that wasn't the sort of thing he could say.

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Wye directed the question about the other man's identity to Ford, but it was good that the constable had decided to answer all the same, because Ford wouldn't have known the answer. He recognized him from seeing him around Hogsmeade, but he didn't make a habit of being on a first name basis with law enforcement officers of any variety, and he wasn't often called upon to work in collaboration with the non-Ministry sort. "Benjamin Woodcroft," he parroted back towards Wye, with a shrug that seemed to say does it matter? No offense to Benjamin Woodcroft, but he seemed rather immaterial to this conversation, now that Ford had arrived. He certainly hadn't done much in the way of finding resolutions so far. Living people really could be so dense about talking to spirits; he would probably just hold them back if he insisted on participating in the interaction. Accordingly, Ford ignored the man's question. Wye had essentially already answered it anyway, when he'd called it a loathsome place; that was all the reason he needed to suggest arson. The Three Broomsticks in particular couldn't have done anything to him, but it didn't have to.

"Listen, you've got to think of the alternatives," Ford told Wye diplomatically. "Living people are still going to go somewhere to drink, and if you burn down the Broomsticks they'll have to go to the Hog's Head. Have you seen that place?" he asked, raising an eyebrow significantly. "I don't want to have to go drink with anyone at the Hog's Head."

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Set by Lady!

Benjamin Woodcroft. This may not have been a vital question to either of them, but Barnaby looked very serious for a moment, staring into space, then closed his eyes and murmured thoughtfully to himself: “soft, oft, scoffed...”

He had not been given enough time before they were talking to him again, so he settled the rapier back to rest in his chest and opened one eye to look hopefully at Greengrass, leaving off the composing until later. “Then perchance we should... burn that down too?” he suggested. (Or instead, he supposed, but ideally too.) “If it is full of fiendish ruffians and ne’er-do-wells,” - and Barnaby suspected it was, not just because the working class were populated with thugs and thieves or because he did not trust pubs but because he’d floated past that grotty place often enough himself to judge it - “we might stamp a few out in the fire, too, and leave this fine constable,” (this in a sarcastic drawl, obviously), “a man of leisure.”

He seemed like he needed to lighten up; Greengrass didn’t want to drink there; Barnaby wanted the world, or at least Hogsmeade, depleted of its dishonest drinking grounds. Frankly, this seemed a perfect solution for them all. He was a genius. He ought to be Minister of Magic.

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Benji fixed the Spirit Division bloke with an exasperated expression; couldn't he just do a bit of magic and have the ghost hang out somewhere else? Benji could have done some weird diplomacy himself, probably, for all the good it was doing them. "This is what I meant about disturbing the peace," he muttered, unable to contain it to himself.

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"You have to have money to be a man of leisure," Ford pointed out, to Wye. "So really you'd just put him out of a job." Not that Ford was really going to advocate for the existence of criminals just to give Mr. Woodcroft something to do, of course, but he also couldn't go along with burning down a building to get rid of them. Of course, to Wye this was a perfectly logical thing to suggest; for obvious reasons, he didn't exactly see death as something final and terrible and to be avoided at all costs, so why not off a few of them if it improved the peace of the rest? This was the problem with trying to reason with ghosts, sometimes — they had a different way of looking at things, and a different set of priorities, so sometimes it took a little trial and error before you could find the right thing to say to convince them. Ford didn't mind, generally, but he also didn't usually have to do this with an audience and Constable Woodcroft had so far added nothing helpful to the conversation.

"It's not as though he could actually do anything," he pointed out to the constable, hoping he would see the merit of this argument, realize the tavern was not in any danger, and leave.

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Set by Lady!

Oh. Of course. Barnaby forgot about money, sometimes. Whether this was because he had had masses of it in Life (and been unaccountably uninterested in managing it, if it were not in the services of glorious patronage), or because it had been near three hundred years since he had paid for anything, he could not say.

“Fortitude here is greatly underestimating my powers of persuasion,” Barnaby interjected dramatically, quite aware this was not helping them settle the problem, but feeling obliged to protest all the same.

He was getting rather bored of this back-and-forth, though - the two of them milling around bickering about it was impeding Barnaby’s efforts to talk to anyone else, after all - so in the meantime... “Pray, what be more likely? / The Broomsticks a’fire,” Barnaby warbled idly, playing an invisible harpsichord in the background, “- or Constable Woodcroft / combusting of ire?” He was pretending to ignore them both, but paused here and shot Greengrass a sly look to say catchy, no?

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Benji would have maybe found the poem funny if it wasn't tied up in Ghost Shenanigans, and instead frowned over at Ministry Bloke again. He wanted nothing more than to leave, except — nothing Fortitude had done so far had convinced Benji of his powers of persuasion, and if he couldn't pull this off and the ghost stayed out here, then Benji was never going to hear the end of it.

"He just needs to find one person who's a little mad and then —" Benji made a little poofing hand gesture to indicate the Broomsticks going up in flames. "— and then we'll never hear the end of it." And Ministry Bloke wasn't going to convince Benji that most Hogsmeade residents were reasonable; he'd met too many Hogsmeade residents for that.

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"No one is burning the Broomsticks down," Ford said, a little annoyed — both with Wye saying Fortitude in that tone and at basically everything about Constable Woodcroft's continued engagement in this conversation. It wasn't helping anyone to tell Wye he just had to keep this up until he found a likely enough fellow and all his incendiary desires would be realized. In Ford's experience the best strategy to de-escalate with Wye was to distract him — for someone who had been around so many hundreds of years, he didn't have the longest of attention spans, and he was so genuinely interested in so many things that it wasn't hard to find a subject that would do the trick.

"Oh, you know what?" Ford said to the spirit, struck with an idea. "I'd bet this is actually the best place to find an audience for your songs. If you can write one on a subject other than burning the place down." Which he could, if he'd come up with something that good so quickly. Ford didn't have a vast experience with drunkenness personally, but he'd interacted with enough intoxicated men than he could imagine they would be particularly amused by a spirit spontaneously bursting into song.

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Set by Lady!