1996-02-26: The Lunch Invasion


Jethro_icon.gif Brennan_icon.gif

Scene Title The Lunch Invasion
Synopsis Jethro sits down to a nice lunch. Brennan invades.
Location Hogsmeade - The Three Broomsticks
Date February 26, 1996
Watch For Yank-speak, Alphabet soup and Seeekrits.
Logger Bone Talker

When one wants a hard glass of whiskey and a quiet place, he goes to the Hogsmeade. However, when Jethro wants a good meal, a good mead and conversation, he might hit the Three Broomsticks. He sits at a table by himself, absorbing the atmosphere, greeting people from time to time, keeping up on communication and relationships. To him, this is part of the new job. Getting a pulse of the populace. He smiles up at Rosmerta as she brings him a large plate of steak and kidney pie. "Thank you," he offers, nodding in a gesture reminiscent of tipping his hat. She says something about not falling for that American charm, and wanders off to fill the next order. Jethro stabs his fork into the food, taking a good-sized bite.

Lunchtime at the Broomsticks is a busy occasion. So busy today, in fact, that when Dr Brennan steps inside, she's told the place is full, but they can do an order for take-away or she can come back in an hour, if that would be better. Dr Brennan does neither. "I'll eat with him." And stepping around the rather dumbfounded woman, she does just that, striding forward and sliding into the seat across from Jethro. "Hi," she offers him a one-word greeting before turning around to find the unfamiliar woman still staring at her. "Could I have a Butterbeer, please?" It's at least a polite request.

"Brennan," Jethro greets. "Go ahead. Have a seat." There is a little bit of sarcasm in his voice, but not a lot. "Brings you to Hogsmeade?" There isn't any huge case on, that he knows of. "This is good." It's a recommendation, a conversation starter and a comment on his meal all in one. Multi-tasking. He takes a long drink of the mead in front of him and sighs. "That butterbeer's too sweet for me."

"Werewolves with bone cancer." Not that that answer explains much, but she thinks it does. As for the butterbeer… "Males tend to prefer their food and beverages to be salty and bitter over females, who prefer sweet and savory. It's indicative of their respective roles in the reproductive cycle. Males need fats and protein in order to maintain lean body mass to hunt, provide and protect, while females need carbohydrates and sugars to fuel the process of growing another living thing and then nurturing it until it is able to fend for itself." It's not the most traditional spin on gender roles, but hey. "I'll have the fish and chips, thanks." She didn't even look at the menu, but she is polite enough to hand it to the woman that takes her order.

"That right." Jethro takes another bite of his fat and protein filled pie. "Makes sense." Jethro is rather traditional about gender roles, but having some sort of reason for them appeals to him. "Not one of the ones in the pack that helped us?" The werewolves who helped the team are allies, at the least, at least in Jethro's mind. "Hope you can help 'em out. Cancer's a helluva thing." His mother died from it. "Had that before… not bad. Need t' find a place that makes a decent steak. Or maybe just find a grill I can grill my own damn steak." The pie is good, but Jethro likes a good steak now and again.

"I haven't had a decent steak since I left D.C." And there's a little bit of wistfulness in Brennan's voice and expression. "They don't make them right, here. I don't even think they cut the beef the same." Which can make a difference! "No, not Moldavia's pack. All specimens retrieved from the altercation at the Ministry show signs of osteosarcoma growth in varying stages and locations within the skeletal structure." But they all had it. "Morgan thinks it might be related to the experimentation done on Maura, but we won't know anything until I can get the samples away from all this interference." Magic is a bitch on tech.

"Problem with all-magic places. Duck says it's somethin' about the magic workin' like an EMP field." Jethro understands that. "Gotta get out somewhere where there's not as many bodies all crammed together." Score another one for the very small British Magical Community. "I find a place to cook one up, you wanna join me? Maybe Morgan?" Get all the Yanks in one place to cook meat the way they like it. "Duck might know a guy in London or Edinburgh. He knows a lot of people." And it might help them in their little war to help this pack out.

Brennan shakes her head, accepting the bottle of butterbeer from the waitress and popping the cap on the table's edge before taking a drink and explaining. "Only two members of the pack survived. Both of them are unaccounted for. One male - according to the reports, he was healthy enough to scale a 12-foot shelf and leap around the tops of them chasing an Aboriginal girl." That takes some doing, apparently. "And one female, the one injured by Snape's slashing curse. All the rest are accounted for." Which means there won't be any survivors to help. Another swig of her beer and she's thinking ahead again. "I never say no to red meat." So much for her 'sugar and carbs' thing. "Morgan is assembling the equipment I need. I'll have results 48 hours after I have access."

"Aboriginal girl." Jethro's mind goes through the students in the MA, those who were there that night. "The little scamp." He smiles. He likes Daine. "Brave little kid." They all were, but some of them, striding right into the middle of things… He can respect that. "Saw that bitch comin' after Snape. Glad he got her, but damn." He sighs. "Glad Morgan's gettin' you squared away. Apparently, I'm gonna be helpin' lead this pack a' guys…" Beat, bite, "and gals." On the matter of the steak, he grins. "I'll ask around. Good steak, see if we can get some good beer, go from there." Make it a bit of a party.

With the sniper-accuracy of a person who has spent their entire life being socially awkward, Brennan pinpoints a social gathering in the making from a mile away. "I - I'm not so good with parties. But thanks." Time for a subject change, ladies and gents! "I know." Beat, drink of beer, pause to thank the nice lady for bringing her basket of fish. "Morgan told me you asked for me to be added to the team." She tears a bit of fish off the end and pops it in her mouth. "Why?" It's been bugging her.

"Brain like you?" Jethro shrugs. "Always lookin' for another way to see things. Heard how you picked up on exactly what happened when Sio got taken." He takes another bite, considers his words, and then speaks again, waving his fork a little. "Dunno what all we're gonna be doin', but that's a really useful skill t' have. Don't have anybody else who can do it so well. Noble — the cursebreaker — can catch a little here and there, but you're much better, and I understand you. Besides, you'd work well with Duck. Know him already, I think, right?" He takes another bite, then washes it down with a little mead. "Suit yourself," he says of the party. "Your loss." The invitation will remain open, though.

Brennan shrugs. After a lifetime of capitulating to such remarks only to regret it upon some social disaster or other at the event itself, she's learned that it's better just not to cave. "Doctor Drake? Yes, I've had the opportunity to work with him twice. His post-mortem expertise came in handy when we'd get a victim who wasn't decomposed enough for the rest of my team to work with." Such pleasant lunchtime conversation. Doesn't seem to affect her appetite any. She's already moving on to the second piece of fish. "It is a useful skill to have," she admits, though there's a 'but' hanging unspoken just off the end. "Did you hear about the cost?" Every power has its drawbacks.

"Cost to you? No. Don't know a damn thing about you besides what you've said, and what I've seen. Dr. Drake says you're skilled at what you do. Good enough for me." Jethro continues to eat, looking up at her between bites, just listening.

Brennan nods, satisfied. Taking a bit of her own meal, she gives her lunchtime companion a long, measuring stare. "Have you ever heard of the Bone Talkers, Gardener?" Some of the US Military men have - some haven't. Depends on who's worked with the Native groups.

"Bone Talkers?" Jethro's eyebrows are raised. "Yeah. Knew one." He doesn't elaborate. Instead he just sits, listening to her, finger stroking his chin in thought. He's interested in hearing this story.

"You understand that the reason I'm telling you this is because I don't like surprises and I respect that the people I work for usually don't either." To translate: She's telling because he's her direct CO, but it's not for public consumption. "My parents disappeared when I was 15 years old. I attempted a ritual that was supposed to give me the power to find anything that was lost. I wasn't strong enough. It gave me the power I was looking for - in a manner of speaking - but it stripped my magical core in the process." Leaving her kinda-dead and mostly sort of alive. "I'm little more than a Squib, Gardener. There's a reason I always kept my work strictly Muggle." At least her crime-scene work. Anthropologically speaking … not so much. "I am considered proficient in six different styles of martial arts and am certified to carry a concealed weapon in 46 states." There's a pause, and then she continues, unable to leave that odd number just hanging out there. "I shot an unarmed suspect who was trying to set me on fire." Which is why there are certain states that don't want her carrying a gun at all. "I've worked cases with the FBI, CIA, NCIS and JAG Corps, but I can't even cast a Lumos."

Jethro huffs out a breath, wincing as she tells the story. "Damn," he says, empathizing with doing something to find or fix things, only to have it go completely wrong. "You tellin' me that makes me want you on my team even more. Maybe you can liaise with the lab people Morgan's got that are pure Muggle, translate all our hinky magic crap into technobabble. MBI doesn't always do that so well." She may have noticed that. They try to blend in, and in comparison to British Wizards, they do admirably. But an American can tell the difference pretty quickly, especially on the technical end. He whistles at the list of agencies she's worked for. "You're not makin' yourself sound less useful, here." If that's indeed what she's doing. "None of anybody's damn business," he assures her. "Good to know, so I know how t' work with you, but I don't need another good magical hand. Morgan's men're almost all specialists in that. What I need is," he taps his temple. "There. You got that, and you talk plainly." Well, plainly enough for Jethro to understand. "Don't intentionally obfuscate just t' make yourself look smart." Unintentionally may be another thing, but that's something they can deal with with a simple, 'huh?'. He takes another bite of his pie, another sip of mead, and leans forward. "You see what Morgan's payin'? He's not messin' around. Me neither. Up to you, but I'd like t' have you along. Jane'll kick my ass, but that's my problem."

Blink. Brennan was not expecting all that. "Okay." And as simple as that, she's back to working at her fish and chips. "I hadn't seen the salary yet, no. I still don't have any of the paperwork." Crunch, drink, continue. "It sounded as though he'd come down solely on your recommendation, so I wouldn't be surprised if his office needs a few days to draw up the contracts."

"Surprised me." The salary did. Jethro takes the last bite of his food, and finishes off his mead. He leans back in his chair and nods at her words. "You'll get it." If he has to bother Morgan a few times, she'll get it. "Make the same offer I do to all of my team. You need somethin' from me, you tell me." He taps his fork on the plate, more for emphasis than anything else. "You become part of the team, you're my responsibility. Know Morgan's runnin' the whole shebang, but you're workin' with me, you need somethin', I can probably get it for you." It's the sign of a good commander, or, in this case, boss.

Savoring the last bite of fish, Brennan sucks a bit of salt and grease off her fingertip before starting in on the chips. "The offer is appreciated, but unnecessary." One more swig finishes off her bottle and she signals their waitress for another. "Most of my assignments were solitary ones. Occasionally with one partner. I'm remarkably self-sufficient." She doesn't mean it to sound arrogant. It's just the truth.

Once again, suit yourself. "Gotcha." Jethro nods, setting the fork down. "You need transport somewhere?" He's noticed that she asks for help to get places. "Could do it, or get someone to." Though she turned down his general offer for help, he'll still offer the little things. Just the way he is. "Probably know this already, but these guys are… kinda weird about guns." In other words, don't use them unless absolutely necessary.

Brennan frowns. "I know. Director Shepard confiscated my weapons upon arrival." Which would be why she didn't have them and was completely useless at the Ministry. "MLE policy apparently prohibits the use of such 'volatile and unpredictable pieces of Muggle atrocity'." Having worked as an Auror for a bit, he might recognize the fact that she's quoting the written policy on them - word for word. "I always thought 'atrocity' was a bit judgmental for a policy in a supposedly non-judgmental government organization." She told Jane as much. It did not go over well. "Uh." She glances down at her half-empty basket of fries. "Sure, just a sec." Fishing in her pocket, she sets - scarily enough - the exact change required to cover her meal and his. Just in time to snag her second bottle of butterbeer off a passing tray. "Where are you going? I've got to get to London and reclaim my guns." Since, you know, not working for people who prohibit them anymore.

"Can take you that way. Gotta go tell Jane I'm stealin' ya anyway." Jethro grins, and holds out his arm. "Ministry, then?" He lays enough coin out to pay for his meal, and the tip for both of them, and points down at the fries. "You wanna take those, you can." He grins. "Not tryin' t' rush ya." But he kind of is, and he knows it.

"It's actually considered extremely rude to tip in most parts of Europe, Gardener." Brennan the Anthropologist to the rescue! "It's seen as an implication that the business is doing so poorly as to need added charity. It's not like America - here, business owners only want money for what they've give you, nothing more." Glancing down at the fries, she shakes her head. "It's actually an admirable cultural value." When he offers his arm, she'll take it without hesitation. "Oh, good. I want to watch that." Because conflict makes for interesting observations - from a purely scientific point of view, of course.

Jethro snorts. "Sure ya do." He reaches over, picks up the tip, not thanking her for the reminder, but not fussing about being reminded either. He walks the two of them out of the building, and to the apparition point. He'll apparate them to the Ministry where he can talk to Jane and she can watch, and get her guns back. All in all, a win / win situation.

Any additional notes fall to the bottom.

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