Hello, Cruel World!

A welcomed warmth settled in the pit of Nemo's stomach at the mention of a drink. Had he every truly experienced love, Nemo was certain that it would have felt as such: so pleasant as to arouse a longing to never again be without that comforting warmth, and yet ever so capable of inflicting anxiety upon him. So were the symptoms of the mere thought of a proper drink; a brief glance from his mind's eye in the direction of a bottle of Vodka, or be it an evening for finer tasting things, one of Jack Daniel's. It may, perhaps have been foolish of him to assume that his savior had implied that alcohol would be in supply when she'd mentioned accompanying her to her office - but it did not suit the times in which they lived, to invite another along for a drink and then to kick back with a glass of milk.

A bright smile danced its way across Nemo's face, and like a pair of startlingly blue LED lights, his eyes were set alight. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he inquired; a phrase which did not at all suit his demeanor. For he was ever the man to please when he believed that there was a prize in store for him. He parted his lips once more with an afterthought, when he was interrupted by the healer who had revived him, "Are you mad? You sustained irreversible liver damage! Even with the use of magic, I was not capable of fully restoring your vital organs - and for what sake?" the man huffed, looking red in the face.

It had seemed, for a moment, that he would not proceed to explain why it was unwise for Nemo to pick up where he'd left off with his vise, but Nemo's hopes were dashed when he began once more. The little engine that could. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today?" He extended his arms at his sides, so to accentuate the mess that remained partially cleaned at his feet. "But that was your intention, was it not?"

Nemo's expression fell as quickly as a led balloon, and he paused, allowing a momentary silence to join the rank smell of blood in the air, before speaking once more. "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't b een for you meddling kids," he mocked, his solemn expression only adding to the statement.

The man seemed overwhelmingly happy by the invitation she offered. At his question she said, "You almost died on my floor. If I don't want you suing, I'd better cover my ass and get you drunk off yours, yes?" Really, she needed some answers. Why was he here, what was he doing here, how had he gotten here past security in the state he was in, and what exactly had happened. She hoped that the fact that had she not intervened, he could have very well died would be heavy on his mind and he would be looser and more honest with her answers. She felt a little entitled. Besides, there was surely going to be an investigation. She was not kidding about covering herself.

The Healer began to berate the man and she watched, raising her eyebrow. The Healer calmed and Mortimer responded cheekily, inciting a smirk on Jack's face. Jack turned to the Healer. "Your help was very needed and we are both thankful for it. However, I am Head of the department, and I have asked this man to accompany me with a drink. I will write the report favorably for you and if he keels over dead in my office, I will take full responsibility. You may go."

The Healer gave Mortimer a look full of resent and whipped around, hurrying to his office and slamming the door behind him. Jack turned back to her 'guest' and said, "Well, come on then." And with that, she turned and led the way to her office. It was not far and she threw open the door, taking a seat at her desk and gesturing to the sofa for her new 'friend.' She rolled over to her mini fridge and bar area. "I have Firewhiskey, rum, Butterbeer, and every soda imaginable."

Movement was a problem, and an undeniable one at that, despite Nemo's typical inward insistence that no pain could hinder him from doing as he pleased. He was made aware of this truth as he uncurled his spine against the wall to his left in a futile attempt to correct his stance; at once his abdomen reminded him of its existence with the stabbing of a freshly torn wound, though there was no evidence to suggest that he had suffered any external injury. The pain tore through him, splitting him in two as he threw an arm behind himself, flattening the appendage against the wall in an attempt to cling to something. "That's a doozey," he mumbled to himself nonchalantly, as though his liver wasn't screaming from its fleshy confines. His every breath was sharp; labored in every essence of the word, until he began to believe with the release of every mouthful of air that it would be his last.

"Drinks. That's right, she mentioned drinks - you, mentioned drinks. I'm a bit..." Nemo released his stomach from the tight grip of his folded arms so to gestured towards his head with the twirling and bending of his every finger, "...dizzy." With the heel of his boot-clad right foot he stumbled aimlessly after the young redhead, never ceasing in his attempt to wear out his tongue in the way that he had his internal organs. "However, a Vodka sounds incredibly pleasant at the moment. I suppose, if I run into a wall, that lovely healer could always scrape me off of the wallpaper and glue me back together."

With the passing of the threshold of Jack's office, Nemo fell heavily into an unoccupied chair and made himself at home. With a the loud rattling of objects being knocked from the desk before him, he threw his legs into the air and rested his crossed ankles atop the wobbling wood. "I'll take the Firewhiskey and the Rum. Yum yum," he replied, having lost the internal battle: to rhyme, or not to rhyme! And with that, his mop-topped head fell backwards and he smiled once more. The blood that clung to the flesh of his hands, arms, face, and neck was begin to harden uncomfortably, but the pain had subsided with his stillness. Sitting was good.

Jack glanced back at Mortimer, but he seemed determined. She knew she would resent the help if she were trying to prove her strength, so she continued on, walking slowly enough so that he could easily follow her into her office. His words rang in her ear down the hallway and she smirked- not often did they find such adament talkers in the Ministry. People had the library-complex in the Ministry. Without having a real reason to, most people ended up whispering in the halls and sparing their words. This was not the case, however, for Mortimer however, and he rattled on and on.

She waited for her guest to enter and he collapsed onto the plush chair, pushing his legs up onto the desk. Jack pointed her wand at the door and it swung close. He was looking tired, so before she reached for the drinks, she opened a drawer and rummaged around for a basic pain potion- she took it for her chronic back aches and the head aches that often plagued her from the hectic work environment that she was supposed to be running. She tossed it to him. "A swig of that will help the pain."

She prepared him his drink and slid him the glass, before pouring herself a glass of rum and coke. She made sure it was not enough to get her drunk as that was against her own protocol. But, it was enough to make her feel a little better. "So... Mortimer," she said, leaning back in her chair and tipping her head. "You have to imagine I am curious as to how we became drinking buddies. Looks like there is quite a tale, and I don't know the half of it. Care to fill me in?" She took a drink, interested in what he had to say.

In an instinctual action, Nemo caught with both hands the small vial that he had been offered. It was quite in the nature of an auror to react to surprise in the way that he'd been trained, but he regretted the hasty physical response immediately when discomfort overwhelmed him as a result. He held the potion near his face as he swirled the liquid that it contained and examined the color with disinterest; this particular brew of pain potion was not unfamiliar to him. And, unfortunately, it was this familiarity with the drug that would therefore prevent it from being of any use to him. Nemo had already worn his body of the effects of the potion; to down a mouthful of the substance would do little more for him than poison his taste buds. "You have anything stronger?" he inquired, simultaneously passing the vial back to its owner with an over-handed flick of the wrist. "Muggles do it better," he added as an afterthought, always eager to include a sexual innuendo when the opportunity arose.

With the greedy, grabby hands of an excited child, Nemo took hold of his drink and brought it nearer to himself. Immediately he noted the single glass that he had been given, having asked for both the Firewhiskey and the Rum. With a sense of curiosity as to the flavor of such a concoction, Nemo deduced that Jack had included both drinks in a single glass. And yet, despite this knowledge, he paid the drink no further heed that one would with filtered water. He guzzled the concoction noisily and in the nature of a man who had gone far too long without hydration, until there was nothing left, and the drink rejoined the items that he had not managed to throw from Jack’s desk.

“Well,” he began in reply, his American accent especially thick, due to the way in which he’d drawn out the word. “My liver went kaput, and you kicked me. Then you offered me a drink,” he summarized the previous events with a smirk. Only after he’d finished with his unreliable retelling of the events that Jack was evidently aware, did he flick his eyes upward in her direction, revealing the inaudible laughter they contained. “Or something like that.”

He caught the potion deftly and Jack inwardly approved- as a Quidditch player, she valued people who had some sort of natural reflexes. She believed it reflected a quickness of mind and spryness of body, both of which were two characteristics that had managed to keep her alive for as long as she had somehow managed to luck out and squeak by living. She made a mental note and looked up as he asked for something stronger. She raised her eyebrows and opened her drawer again, reaching for a potion she used when her back went completely nuts on her. His joke, however, caused her to change course. With a cheeky glint in her eye, she threw him a bottle of aspirin- Jack was a muggleborn after all. She had been carrying a bottle of aspirin with her since she was eight years old. She could not kick the habit.

He seemed a little off put by the mixed drink, but she trusted the recipe- it was one she had seen a few hardcore drunks order at Satan’s while she covered the nightclub. She had assisted the bartenders a few times when there was a rush, so she had made the odd drink two or three times before, and she had seen it mixed dozens of time. Regardless, the man did not seem concerned about it and drank it like a baby desperate for milk- she supposed she had better not make that comparison aloud though. She drank her own drink, preferring it plain and simple. Jack did not like to get flat-out drunk- not after a few occasions had made her divulge more information than she would have cared too, but she found herself a steady drinker. Soda and alcohol were steadily and interchangeably in her system. She was not drinking heavily- just reliably. Oh, what would her saintly brother say of her?

His answer did not satisfy her, and the comedic expression of displeasure she pulled surely articulated just that. “You have interrupted me just as I was winding down for the end of the week. I have saved your life, essentially, and given you your poison of choice.” She raised her eyebrows and leaned back. “I think asking for a story is not too high a price, huh?”

The Savior was hardcore. It took a serious addict to purchase Aspirin, of all the over-the-counter drugs that the Muggles had thought up. Surely, Nemo was in the presence of none other than a pro. “Aspirin?” he asked with an expression so disbelieving as to suggest that Jack had just told him that she was the spawn of a unicorn. “I don’t even…” he muttered with the slow shaking of his head from one side to the other. Nemo most certainly did not approve. “I was thinking something more in the neighborhood of Oxycontin,” the auror admitted, having succumbed to his disappointment as he repeatedly turned over the bottle of Aspirin in his right hand. If anything, it made a good maraca.

His attention, however, had been torn from the mild painkiller and guided with a firm shove in the direction of Jack’s insistence that he further explain what had happened. She was demanding that Nemo release information which was widely known by the aurors with whom he worked; a poorly concealed secret that held little value to those who had already grown familiar with Nemo’s psychological dysfunction. And yet, with such reluctance did he decide to speak up. He was too raw; he had not yet been given the opportunity to heal from the emotional damage that the absence of his ability had inflicted upon him, now that it had returned at last. Do it, for the Rum Whiskey, he encouraged himself, having decided that it would be unlikely that Jack would provide him with another drink, should he plead the fifth.

“I’m a Seer, and as such, there are instances when the ability isn’t entirely present. As I’m sure you can imagine, that change has its side effects.” Uncomfortable. Nemo was entirely too uncomfortable; he did not at all enjoy ‘share time’. Of what use was his life story to Jack, anyway? He shook the Aspirin bottle in his hands absentmindedly, having become jittery once more as the hypermania crept its way across the planes of Nemo’s mind. “Attempting suicide often works, to bring it back. Though, admittedly, I wouldn't have preferred for it to be left an attempt, had you asked me a moment ago.” He paused and tapped his toes together - once, twice, three times. “Can I have another drink now?”

He seemed a little shocked by her procuring of the bottle of Aspirin, and she wondered if he was one of those wizards deeply unfamiliar with the muggle world. Aspirin was always in her system, she was sure, so there was really no cause for panic. She raised her eyebrows as she watched him take in the little bottle, before he admitted what he had really been looking for. She laughed, sincerely, and said, “Sorry, mate, I don’t run a pharmacy. I think you have viewed all of my store of drugs.” She took the aspirin back good-naturedly and shook it. She was going to need to refill it soon- she was running low, and she was never low on reasons to have a headache, so if she did not want to be grumpy around her employees (well, grumpier) then it was in everybody’s best interest if she purchased some more Aspirin.

(This program was brought to you in part by Aspirin.)

She realized she had done something she normally did not do to strangers- she had pried. She was prying into the new acquaintance’s life in was she had not done since she was trying to get James Wake to show some amount of mercy and accompany her to the Yule Ball so she would not look like a fool- imagine, a dateless champion. She would pry now, if she did not know, only too well, that this incident would not go unnoticed nor unchecked. People were sure to inquire and she would be hearing from the higher-ups. She needed to know what she had gotten herself into when she had innocently walked into work that day.

Mortimer began to explain and Jack listened with an open expression and mind. Jack had learned many times the hard way to deal with delicate situations- and that was to do her best to free her mind of prejudice, keep a blank face, and simply let the words sink into her mind. As he finished, Jack felt a tugging inside of her. Had she been a sentimental person, she might have hugged the man. But no such thought struck her, for she was not sentimental. However, her ever-growing ability of Empathy felt his pain as he spoke, felt the reluctance that he had to speak of these things. And she could not help but think- how many cases will come to me of people stuck in a situation of sudden, violent change that meets violent ends? She marveled at her life briefly and how it seemed to revolve around such people- Vito the poltergeist, Ariel the werewolf, and now Mortimer the Seer emerged.

It was clear he was dependent on the alcohol, and though Jack knew fuelling an addiction was wrong, she felt that stopping him now was not prudent. She nodded, saying nothing, and prepared him another drink. She handed him the drink and pulled out a slip of paper. Writing a quick note of consent, she slipped him the paper. “You can stop by the Healing office and they can give you what you need in painkillers. You have to make me a promise it is only to temporarily relieve pain, however.” She paused, sure he would hate being talked to like that- she know she would. She added, “I don’t need a lawsuit.”

Why did Jack feel responsible for him, now? Was it just luck- he had stumbled upon her floor so he had stumbled into her jurisdiction? Or did Jack need to fix people because she had created something that broke them? Whatever the reason, Jack felt a need to ensure this man’s safety. She glanced at her supply of drinks and said, “I often find myself in need of a social drinking partner. I was wondering if you would like to audition. The commitment would be a weekly one for an indefinite amount of time, however. You seem capable though.”

Those eyes which forever held within them an amusement with the world had developed a cold glimmer, if only for a second’s time. As Nemo gazed forward without focus, despite the level at which his pupils sat in perfect alignment with Jack’s, the emptiness which consumed the man far too often stepped forth, revealing itself for the briefest moment. Though a smile he wore, something dead had extended its long-fingered hand through the doorways that were Nemo’s soulful orbs, and it appeared as though Nemo was wavering between two entirely different personalities. With no more prompting than the voicing of Nemo’s constant battle, a light had been shone on Dr. Manic and Mr. Depression at a moment during which the pair had amalgamated. An internal eclipse. Under ordinary circumstances, it was a privet ritual. The Savior was treading through an overgrown field with no clear path; a land upon which no other had set foot.

But in the manner of a man being awoken from a deep slumber, Nemo’s eyes flicked to life once more with the arrival of his second drink. His mind did not linger on the thoughts that previously occupied his attention, for he had learned early in his lifetime that it was not wise to linger in the shadows. He had been visited by his precognition when he had shared a connection with Jack – and with an alcoholic beverage held loosely in his hands, all was well. “Whoop!” Nemo cheered before taking his first swig from his renewed drink.

After seeing off another glass of alcohol and promptly slamming it down upon the surface of Jack’s desk, Nemo accepted the prescription that she had written out for him. “I promise, Mommy Dearest. Or ‘Mum’ if I’m speaking your language, apparently.” A pause, and more tapping of toes. “But that is not to say that I will not have my Jarvey assist me in an overdose. 'Cause it doesn't count if I'm not the one serving it up. He is rather skilled in the art of pill crushing. Give him a couple in an enchanted envelope and he’ll gnaw it to bits. Very useful creature, Rat-a-tat,” he replied sarcastically. It was in all likelihood that the Healers that Jack had referred him to would provide him with a pain potion in the same nature as the one that he had previously turned down. His current supply would do a far more effective job in easing the pain that he continued to experience within his abdomen than anything the ‘Man’ could provide him with. Nonetheless, Nemo pocketed the small slip of paper.

Nemo motioned with the curling of four of the fingers on his right hand for Jack to pour him another drink and draped his neck over the back of his chair once more. He could not suppress the high-pitched chuckling that bubbled in response to The Savior’s proposition. “Am I worthy, Yosemite Sam, to be your drinking buddy? I would consider this right here an audition, after all,” he asked, having deemed this nickname a far more appropriate one than that which continued to repeat itself within his mind whenever he acknowledged the woman. Savior. Savior. Savior. It sounded far too much like ‘master’ for his taste. Sounds like the words of a sex slave, he noted, which only further fueled his laughter. “Does the gig pay? Free liquor, me happy.”

Despite her familiarity with these self destructive type of characters, and her own gift of Empathy, Jack lacked the natural instincts of comfort. She knew how to help people retain their pride and sense of dignity, because those were things she heartily preferred to sympathy and comfort. Her own needs being different from a typical person’s, she was not good at creating that level of care. She did what she could and she knew she and Mortimer were on another level here. He was somewhere else, briefly, and she glanced down at her desk, a reminder that she was still here. Jack did not go anywhere. She was bound here while those she was attached to floated every which way, clinging to her; she held to them like the strings attached to an overly-inflated balloon. The wind pulled each of those balloons in different directions, and if Jack allowed herself to be moved, all of the balloons would be sucked into space, would tangle, would become lost. So she stayed there, letting the balloons whip around her and pull her arms out of their sockets, because she was so afraid to see them drift toward the heavens.

He must have stirred, however, because he let out an affirmative exclamation over her offered drink, which caused her eyes to flick up to him. One of the corners of her mouth tugged upwards, and he made his promise. He teased her accent and she decided to save the story of her own childhood in America for another time- she had a feeling there might be another. He mentioned a Jarvey and her eyebrows went up in interest and mild surprise. “Jarvey’s can be devious,” she said knowingly. “I have one of my own. He generally ignores pills. He prefers watching daytime TV psychology shows and learning more swear words.” She smirked. “I’ll talk to your Jarvey and make him hear the voice of reason. I’ve become great at arguing with the weasels.”

He had already downed the first drink and Jack went about making the next, this time adding some soda to slow him down. “Can’t have your liver failing again,” she explained. His question made her chuckle and she said, “Jack is perfectly fine, though I could enjoy Yosemite Sam.” He asked if she would supply the liquor and she responded, “You supply the company, I’ll supply the drinks, naturally.”