Post by Alfonso De Quesada on Apr 1, 2008 14:56:41 GMT -5
Jokers bar; it was the most crowded place in town. It was dark and musty, and not fit for a gentleman. It's patrons ranged from the schoolchildren of the university to fearsome and terrible dark wizards. Today, there was a new face there. A Spanish face. Beneath thick, dark brows, his light brown eyes scanned the room. He was at a table alone, but hopefully this would soon change. He'd sent letters to two of his cousins from different sides of the family, who'd coincidentally both ended up working at the University.
The first of which was his prima, Melia Birchheel. She was one of his favorite cousins, though he hadn't seen her since her ill-fated marriage ended. Business matters, and such. Couldn't be helped. He had heard, through the family grapevine, that she was supposed to be the one actively resisting the ministry. Other family members criticized her for taking too long, but Alfonso knew better. He trusted that she was merely acting with stealth in mind. Melia never was one to back down from a challenge.
His other cousin he didn't like so much. He was a rude, selfish boy; a pampered little prince. He was the youngest son of his father's deceased sister, Isabel. He'd only invited him to be polite; he didn't expect him to show up. Unfortunately, he was the only Munro in this area of Spain at the present moment. His elder brother, Marco, who Alfonso liked much better, was in Italy with a new wife. He should have married a Spanish girl, Alfonso had lamented when he'd gotten the invitation. Just as Isabel should have married a Spainard. It didn't matter that she was without magic, what the English called a Squib.
Alfonso sat relaxed in his chair, clad in proffesional looking robes, navy blue with off-white pinstripes. His hair was slicked back, as though it were still 1930. Even his moustache and goatee were carefully trimmed. As usual, he was every inch a gentleman, and a Spainard. To pass the time he would inevitably have to wait, he recalled the letter he'd sent to each cousin, both of them worded alike, in straightforward English. That had rankled a bit, but it was necessary. Couldn't make the English Ministry dogs think you were an elitist. Even if you were.
Dear Cousin,
I am in town, and heard you taught at Firefox University. It would be my pleasure to catch up with you over a few drinks at Joker's Bar. There is important family news to discuss that can only be broached face to face. See you soon.
With Warmest Regards,
-Alfonso De Quesada
He knew his cousins Rodrigo and Paco were around somewhere, but Rodrigo was far to hot-headed for Alfonso's tastes and Paco was something of a black sheep. If Alfonso wanted to succeed his father, Eduardo, he was best not contacting either one. So, he trained his eyes on the door and waited.
The first of which was his prima, Melia Birchheel. She was one of his favorite cousins, though he hadn't seen her since her ill-fated marriage ended. Business matters, and such. Couldn't be helped. He had heard, through the family grapevine, that she was supposed to be the one actively resisting the ministry. Other family members criticized her for taking too long, but Alfonso knew better. He trusted that she was merely acting with stealth in mind. Melia never was one to back down from a challenge.
His other cousin he didn't like so much. He was a rude, selfish boy; a pampered little prince. He was the youngest son of his father's deceased sister, Isabel. He'd only invited him to be polite; he didn't expect him to show up. Unfortunately, he was the only Munro in this area of Spain at the present moment. His elder brother, Marco, who Alfonso liked much better, was in Italy with a new wife. He should have married a Spanish girl, Alfonso had lamented when he'd gotten the invitation. Just as Isabel should have married a Spainard. It didn't matter that she was without magic, what the English called a Squib.
Alfonso sat relaxed in his chair, clad in proffesional looking robes, navy blue with off-white pinstripes. His hair was slicked back, as though it were still 1930. Even his moustache and goatee were carefully trimmed. As usual, he was every inch a gentleman, and a Spainard. To pass the time he would inevitably have to wait, he recalled the letter he'd sent to each cousin, both of them worded alike, in straightforward English. That had rankled a bit, but it was necessary. Couldn't make the English Ministry dogs think you were an elitist. Even if you were.
Dear Cousin,
I am in town, and heard you taught at Firefox University. It would be my pleasure to catch up with you over a few drinks at Joker's Bar. There is important family news to discuss that can only be broached face to face. See you soon.
With Warmest Regards,
-Alfonso De Quesada
He knew his cousins Rodrigo and Paco were around somewhere, but Rodrigo was far to hot-headed for Alfonso's tastes and Paco was something of a black sheep. If Alfonso wanted to succeed his father, Eduardo, he was best not contacting either one. So, he trained his eyes on the door and waited.