Marange

Matt hadn't entirely safe or himself since the escape. Months later he was still experiencing minor paranoia. So naturally he wasn't comfortable with purchases another apartment. Instead he found safety in buying nights in various motel/hotel rooms. He figure that was as safe as he was going to get given his current predicament. He didn't mind it that much either. His old apartment harboured horrible memories from his past. And sometimes his hotel rooms were an escape from reality. With a good brew and fast food it could be considered paradise. Plus not many people could find him if they were looking for him as he never stayed anywhere more than a week or two.

He sat down at the table in the kitchen area of his current motel room and cracked open a bottle of firewisky. He poured himself a little bit and sat down in his journal. He had been trying to remember what had gone on underground in more detail. But he was also afraid to, that stopped him. He picked up his quill then put it back down. He repeated this process another few times until he heard a knock on his room door. Surprised, he grabbed his wand that was next to his glass and slid it up his sleeve. He looked through the peephole to see a familiar face.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened the door. "Nemo! How in the hell did you find me?" he asked him curiously.

The Fall had been the last that he and his companion had spoken. There had been a number of contributing factors to the silence that had befallen the pair; all of which Nemo had convinced himself were both necessary and true. One excuse after another had not piled up within him to form a thick barrier between himself and the explanation that Matt had required he provide. Nay, Nemo had been incapable of seeking Matt out and sharing with him that dreaded conversation. He had required time to heal. He had been in no state to travel or to dig up his past. The Ministry was never still and he was incapable of simply abandoning his beloved occupation.

Said arguments were not capable of withstanding such a lengthy period of thought, however. Over the course of two weeks, Nemo’s supposedly compelling rationalizations had crumbled to dust beneath the weight of his pestering subconscious. Thus, it was on the morning of the second Friday after his attempted suicide that Nemo rose to discover that an uneasiness had settled within his core, and he had already begun to formulate the nauseating words that he would undoubtedly speak to Matt that evening.

Nemo’s mind had been made up for him, as though by Matt himself; a possibility which Nemo considered as he stared absently at the flesh that paved his right hand during his walk down the dirt road away from his shared home with Jack. That hand which had dragged Matt off of St. Bart’s alongside him. He inhaled slowly in an attempt to grant himself even an inkling of confidence, before he stuffed his hand in a pocket in his denims and turned on the spot.

-

Nemo walked slowly down the carpeted hallway, eyes partially closed in preparation for the suffering he would endure beyond the door of Matt’s room. He lifted a hand to rake anxiously through the strands of his untidy hair, before knocking the other against the door numbered 27. “Open up, Sparky,” He called to the man when the sound of a chair scraping across the floor reached his ears.

"Nemo! How in the hell did you find me?" He seemed oddly relieved, Nemo noted. “I know a guy who knows a guy,” Nemo teased with a quirk of his lips and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him with a kick of his boot-clad heal and flattened his back against it with a soft thud. “You got any more of those?” He inquired with a gesture of his chin towards Matt’s whiskey.

It was going to be a long evening.

Matt was happy to see Nemo, it was a pleasure as much as it was a surprise. It had been weeks since the fall and when he had last spoken to his friend. Those weeks weren't the best for him. They mostly consisted of him sitting and thinking; and drinking. He had been trying his hardest to remember. But no matter how hard he tried he constantly came up with nothing. Copious amounts of alcohol barely fazed him so that was no help. But now was probably not the best time to try to remember what he assumed were horrific memories. Nemo was here, and he wanted a beer. He gestured for Nemo to come in and made his way to the fridge.

"Right," he began as he grabbed Nemo a beer. "It's been a while." he said as he opened it and handed it to his companion. He had been trapped in his mind so he really didn't notice too much. He noticed his notebook and quill and waved his wand at them, making them disappear and clearing the table scarce for his own drink. He took a seat at the table and gestured for Nemo to as well. He had a feeling they had some talking to do.

With a nod, Nemo accepted the beer that had been opened and passed his way. The knowledge that he would not be alone in his retelling of his past was a relatively comforting one. At best, he could acquire a buzz with the drinks that he had caught a glimpse of with the opening of Matt's refrigerator, and there was no better company under troubling circumstances than alcohol.

"How do you afford it?" Nemo inquired halfheartedly as he brought the darkly tinted bottle to his lips, allowing the drink to pool in his mouth for a moment's time before he swallowed. "Keeping up with the tolerance? The last time I got drunk it required three bottles of vodka," He elaborated, recalling the last evening he and Matt had spent together at the pub. Nemo had not believed anyone to have the resistance to intoxication capable of rivaling his own, until he had engaged in a game of Ten Fingers with the man. It was astounding.

"No," Nemo refused the seat that he had been offered, before taking a step away from the door to begin pacing absently about the hotel room. "I'm 'Up' right now, I can't sit still," He admitted, before he halted abruptly and heaved a sigh when it occurred to him that he had not yet informed Matt of such matters. "Right." He drank greedily from his beverage before proceeding. "Hi, my name is Mortimer and I am a bipolar alcoholic." It was as good a place to start as any, he assumed.

Matt had taken quite a few sips from his own drink and had nearly finished it. He was probably going to need a bit more judging from the vibe Nemo was giving off. He noticed Nemo was also drinking quite a bit already. He knew if both of them were drinking they would extinguish is visible supply of alcohol quickly. As Nemo began to speak he got up and grabbed a six pack, some vodka, and a big bottle of firewhisky. "Lestrange, Mate. Just because I never talk to them doesn't mean I don't have access to the bank account." he said grinning. He placed the alcohol on the table and sat down, looking at Nemo.

Matt listened intently at his first words. Granted, Matt had assumed as much but it was more shocking hearing it come out of Mo's mouth. He placed his drink down and clapped his hands together. He really didn't know what to say, he had never had close relations to anyone like Nemo. "Right." he said, trailing off into a train of thought. Nemo was going to spill his guts, figuratively. "My name is Matthew Lestrange, I can't remember sh*t from my past and I have daddy issues.." he finally said. He put out his hand and smiled cheekily. "Good to meet you." he said.

Nemo had not assumed that the 'conversation of truths' would be a painless one. Had he, he surely would have spared the delay. There would have been no need for mental preparation or avoidance, had he concluded that Matt would ease the fear from his shoulders in the manner that he most certainly had with such a casual reply. Thus, it was with an expression that wavered between one of surprise and one of genuine gratitude that he met his friend's gaze. "You too, man," Nemo spoke up once more as he stepped forward and gave Matt's hand a firm shake.

"If you go I go with you."

Nemo released Matt's hand to scrub at his stubble peppered chin. "How's about we turn this shit into a drinking game?" He proposed, eyebrows raised and arms extended at his sides in offering. "We just might have enough alcohol here to get drunk," He followed up the suggestion with his infamous grin, dropping his spent beer bottle atop the table beside their remaining supplies.

Matt smiled as Nemo took his hand and shook it. He saw Nemo's eyes, there was something he had never actually seen in those eyes before. Gratitude And that brought an even brighter smile to Matt's face. But it didn't last long as Nemo continued to speak as he let go. A drinking game. Now that could be very fun. Matt took a look at the stash of alcohol he had already procured on the table. He pursed his lips and thought. Then, without a word, he got up and dashed into the bathroom. He had an old bottle of scotch he had been saving for something special occasion. This was as much of an occasion as any other. He strolled out of the bathroom holding the bottle high.

"50 year old scotch." he said proudly. "Knicked it from the family when I was fifteen. I was never really into scotch until I turned twenty. Then I figured I'd save this for a special occasion." he told Nemo. He placed it down on the table in front of them and admired it. Not bad. he thought to himself. He waved his wand clearing the table. The rest of the alcohol floated softly to the counter by the sink. He pocketed his wand and took a seat. He did not motion for Nemo to sit down this time.

"Alright, so, we need to establish some rules then?" he asked Nemo as he rubbed his hands together.

Smiles were an infectious thing, Nemo had found. But Matt's was a particular disease; a virus that varied each time it spread across his friend's face, often eliciting laughter from Nemo in spite of the circumstances. His shoulders shook for a brief moment and he stepped away from the table to resume his previous ministrations; attempting to burrow through the floor with nothing more than the steel of his boots.

His curiosity drove his lively blues, which presently swam with the energy that his psychological state had overwhelmed him with, after Matt when he sprung from the table and fled to the bathroom. "What? Left the bath running?" He inquired, his helium-high voice laced with amusement.

"Oh, f-ck me," Nemo muttered when he caught sight of the beauty that Matt had presented. He drifted towards the bottle upon the table, taking firm hold of the back of a near chair, so to avoid the possibility of his collapse. "A special occasion, is it?" Was his breathy retort. His face was alight with awe; like a man who had witnessed a mirical. "A year," He began whilst he leaned further forward against his chair's frame to more closely examine the fine specimen before him, "The oldest alcohol I've ever had was a year old," Nemo admitted. He whistled, a second grin stretching across his lips. "Rules?"

"Oh!" He was shaken from his stupor by his realization, "Right. Rules." He brought his hands together to rub them together in a devious gesture. "Alright, how's this? For each truth one of us tells, the other drinks. It'll allow us both to drink and will keep this damned chick flick rolling." Perhaps there would be a reward for his trials after all. Looks promising, Nemo encouraged himself with a shrug.

Nemo's reaction to the recently acquired scotch was priceless. The light in his friends eyes was too much and Matt let out a hearty laugh as he monitored his friends continuous reaction. It was like he had never seen 50 year old scotch before. It was pretty good, and still pretty damn strong at this point in it's age. If anything it was probably even stronger, he was surprised the bottle was still in a state of solid matter. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and leaned back in his chair as his friend returned back to reality. Matt let out a short chuckle at this as well. Tonight may not be so bad after all. Drinking, potential laughing, and he and Nemo were about to spill each other's life secrets.

He put his feet down once Nemo began to explain the rules. Simple enough, not likely that either of them would get killed. But then again, it was never ever that for sure with himself or Nemo. "Deal!" he said with enthusiasm as he procured a couple of glasses out of thin air. He wondered whether Nemo was going to take a seat at this point. He looked like he might faint out of the sheer idea of drinking the scotch. "Just, no hand holding or hugging. Okay?" he said to Nemo as he opened the bottle of scotch. He sniffed it, "Whew, strong." he smirked as he looked at Nemo. He better not pass out on him.

He put one of the glasses at his end of the table and one at Nemo's end of the table. He poured himself a bit into his glass and then a bit into Nemo's. He really didn't mind if Nemo continued to pace. It was nice to see his friend in a good mood after the previous time they had seen each other. "Dibs out on going first!" he said as he put his finger on his nose.

Nemo had grown rather accustomed to sliding fluently from one facade to another for the sake of a joke. He had developed a rather remarkable knack for manipulating his facial expressions and subtle gestures; a skill which was often put to use when his financial state did not agree with his extensive list of habits and addictions. Therefore, it was simply instinctual when Nemo melted into the act, dropping his shoulders and allowed a shadow to be cast across his facial features in feigned heartbreak with the mention of the evening's bans. "But..." He dropped his head and gazed at Matt through his lashes as he shuffled his feat 'ashamedly'. "I thought you liked hand-holding."

But he was drawn out from behind his mask by Matt's declaration of the Scotch's strength. "Hey-hey!" He complained, falling heavily in his chair in front of the bottle, "Gimme-gimme-gimme!" Nemo insisted, ever the patient man.

"Yesss," He sighed when the object of his affection was poured into a glass of his own and slid his way. And with startling haste, Nemo brought the glass' rim to his lips and drank from it. "Ugh," He groaned, eyes rolling backward when he parted with the beverage to savor the alcohol's marvelous burn. But his frenzied mind had no intention of allowing him to remain seated; he jumped off of his chair after obtaining his drink and returned to his restless activities, waltzing dazedly about the room.

Nemo's inner workings squirmed and tangled with one another when it was proclaimed that he would be the first to take his turn. "I-" He paused, rocking his right knee and tapping his free hand against his thigh as he conjured his answer. "I have attempted suicide sixteen times," He continued in the hope that the information would suffice.