IT'S NOT HAPPENING - - CORMAC

[romilda]

Romilda had been trying for months to get someone, anyone to donate to the museum. The only way she was going to be able to bring new collections in was if she had the money to buy them, or go out and hunt them down herself. Rom could not do the latter, not with one child still in school, and Mia might need her help with the baby one day. She could not just leave like to she used and hunt down artifacts that belonged in a museum and not floating through the black market or in someone's living room. Some artifacts with legends behind them, really did hold magical powers - because they were important to not only muggle history but, wizard history as well. Half the time, muggles didn't know what they held in their possession.

Earlier in the day, while working in her office, a crate was delivered, along with a letter. Romilda's curiosity was certain aroused. She was not expecting any deliveries today. She opened the crate first, finding several old texts, in an ancient-ish language. Some of the texts were inscribed in stone, while others were written on old forms of paper. Rom flipped through several them, recognizing some of the words. With bits of that strips of packing paper strewn everywhere, Romilda picked the letter from the lid of the crate, and sat down at her desk to read it.

Mrs. Romilda A. McLaggen,

The crate that accompanies this letter holds something very valuable to me. Some family heirlooms I recent acquired. I, having no mind for history or language, have no idea what these books say, mean, or where they are from. I have heard you have vast knowledge of old languages and the like. I am hoping you can translate these for me. I will, of course, pay you for your troubles. Once you have finished, and the books are returned to the enclosed address, I will make an anonymous donation of 80,000 galleons to your wonderful museum. Surely you can do something with that. I wish to stay anonymous. Please don't try to find me. Just translate the books and return them.

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"Eighty...th-thousand...galleons?..." she repeated to herself. Romilda wasted no time. She told those under her that she was going home for the day, and told them what needed to be done for the rest of day. Then, she transported the precious cargo, the letter, and herself to her living room. There was absolutely no way Romilda could turn this offer down. She herself was curious was to what these books were about. The only way to satisfy it was spend time at home, going through them all and translating it. Not once did she stop and think about the source of these books. It didn't matter. She could do so much for the museum with that many galleons.

Rom wasted no time. She settled down on the floor of the living room. She carefully removed the books from the crate, and set those next to her. She accio'ed about half their home library to her as well, and those books ended up being spread around a bit. With a notebook and a quill, Romilda set to work. With one of the old books in front of her, she placed the notebook and quill next to it, and dove it. It was not long before she had a page translated, doing as much as she could on her own, and checking sources. By the end of an hour, half the books she had accio'ed down, were opened, spread around in front of her. Currently, she was flipping through one book, trying to figure out a symbol she was stuck on, growing impatient to find it's meaning. [/blockquote][/size]

[cormac]

His head ached mildly as he moved through the small lane and turned into the walkway that lead to his home. A soft light showed from the front window pane, the glace blinked with a soft yellow tinted. Rom was up waiting for him. He smiled, then let his lips drop. Knowing her it could mean one of two things. Either she was waiting for him because he had been late again, and a fight was going to happen. Or, she was waiting for him like she did when she was in a strange mood and wanting attention. Cormac rubbed his temples and did not know which could be worse. He had spent a long night fighting with Mr. Nook, a curator for a Scottish museum, regarding a recent artifact that Cormac's team had discovered on a dig. When a price was finally settle, Cormac stopped at the pub for a drink before making his way home.

Moving from the doorway of his favorite pub, some lout had bumped into him to spill a shot of whiskey on Cormac's way-coat. The smell was harsh, and his headache made him sway lightly on his feet. Any casual appearance would show Cormac to be stone-cold drunk. This was not the case, but first impressions made for bad bed fellows when it came to Cormac's luck. He used the hand rail to make his way up to the large wrap around porch. The old stone pillars were a nice touch to their small mansion-house. Each brick and stone had been hand picked by Cormac as a gift to the wife he loved. He imagined them growing old on rocking chairs on this porch. It was a pipe dream he knew. Neither his beautiful wife, nor himself, would ever grow old patiently sitting still. There was too much wild blood flowing between the two.

He paused outside the door, and untied his tie. He let the top two buttons loose on his shirt, and rubbed his head a moment. His hair was lifted in small corkscrews, and a wave of hair drifted over the side of his face. His headache made his eyes water, and he swayed on his feet as he moved through the door and took a blind left into the living area. His feet immediately hit a large object, and Cormac fell forward into a pile of books. One lifted off the top of a haphazard ledge of tomes and landed squarely on his aching head. His bloodshot eyes ripped open to see his wife sitting among half their library on the polished oak floor. At first he was not sure what he was looking at, then it dawned on him. She was not waiting up because she was mad for him being late. She was not even waiting up for him for some husbandly affection. No, Romilda was working at home again. He smelled like whiskey, his hair was a mess, his eyes watered and bloodshot, and his head burst with pain from the new bump on his forehead. Cormac was not drunk, but he sure as hell looked the part.

[romilda]

On any normal day, Romilda would be pacing a hole in the living room floor by now. She had been aware of his meeting earlier, with some curator - why he just didn't put the things he found in her museum was beyond her. In Rom's experience, those things never really went well, especially with muggles. It was better they thought the artifact was missing than them laughing about what "magic" the item held. Due to her recent request, Romilda completely forgot all about...everything during the time she spent poured over books on the floor. Time meant nothing. The only thing that was important to her at this very moment in time was ciphering this book. She grew more and more curious, and more intrigued with it as her translation progressed. It was not easy. It took her over thirty minutes to get through one sentence.

While attempting to figure out a symbol, Romilda was rather rudely interrupted by her ever timely husband. He more or less scared the living daylights out of her as he crashed in. All she heard was a thump, and books smooshing together, one falling off a pile and landing squarely on his head. Romilda screamed out of surprise and hopped back onto the sofa - with her precious mostly undecipherable book in her hands. She recovered, only after recognizing it was only Cormac. Wait, what time was it? Romilda glanced at the clock. Her expression quickly changed from one of slight amusement to one of far from being amused sort of look. She gave Cormac her infamous 'angry Rom' look. Romilda, however couldn't really be bad at him. She hadn't noticed the time, absorbed by her work.

Romilda sort of had to laugh slightly at him. He looked so out of sorts. Her laugh only lasted a short moment, as she slide back down to the floor. She was going to make sure he was okay but, then his out of sorts appearance quickly pushed that out of the way. Rom eyed him suspiciously. If he was drunk, she was going to rip him a new one. "Cormac," she said warningly. "..do you.." she paused. "Are you okay?" she asked, a chuckle coming back. It was sort of funny, and by the looks of it Cormac got what he deserved.

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