Coincidence of Opposites [OPEN]

[renard walt goyle]

▲

August 31st, 2028

“Fucking hell…” Renard swore loudly as his hand knocked over the second pint he’d ordered since sitting down at the bar in the Violet Hound. This wasn’t clumsiness: he had the unfortunate luck, quite literally, of having dealt with a flooded basement full of mackled malaclaws a few days prior. And managed to get bitten by one on his damn pinky finger. Since then, he’d had a nice string of bad luck. Obviously he had known that this was a possibility considering the circumstances. But they weren’t a common creature that he handled on the job, and forgetting his gloves on his desk was definitely a poor call on his part.

The witch who had them appear in her basement had clearly been snapped by one as well, as she had been in a state when Renard arrived. Hair curler wrapped in a knot of bed head he’d only ever seen in movies, a missing tooth, and two different pairs of shoes on. One was missing a chunk off of the front so her toes stuck through it, the other was a high heel, sans the heel. He should have turned around to get his dragon hide gloves at that point but figured he could handle one or two mackled malaclaws without them. Oh he was so wrong about that. Clearly the swarm in the basement had broken through an adjacent building, where he later found out they were being illegally harvested for their tails. The only useful part of them apparently.

Despite being careful, Renard still walked out with a bruised pinky and the start of his weeklong bad luck. Two separate owls had already managed to relieve themselves on him today, targeting both of his shoulders, and he also stepped in several large puddles left from the rain the night before. He desperately wanted to ask the bartender for a bendy straw, but thought better of it. Knowing how he currently was, he’d probably lose an eye or end up with the straw halfway up his nose when trying to drink through it. Letting out a long sigh as he watched the spilled beer drain out of the glass, he stupidly leaned back on the stool. The creak as one of the back legs snapped underneath his unluckiness brought a sickening drop to his stomach as he instantly fell backwards onto the floor.

Fucking magical lobsters.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

It was the night before she was due to start another year at LIFE, and Ivanka had popped into the Violet Hound to grab a takeaway order. As much as she wished she could have gotten drunk to avoid having to think about what had possessed her to sign on to another year of studies, she didn't think that showing up to the Hogwarts campus hungover would have made for a good look.

The good thing about the Violet Hound was that the food was better than the other pubs around, and it was usually ready quickly enough. The people who just wanted to go and drown their sorrows had places to do that, but the Violet Hound usually wasn't one of them. Walking inside just in time to see someone at the bar knock over their pint was atypical but not unexpected if someone had already had one drink too many, but it was the falling stool—and the patron atop it—that came as the real shock.

Ivanka jumped at the sound. Instead of standing there dumbfounded, though, she hurried to where the young man had fallen over. There probably wasn't a Healer around, though that would have been nice, but she could at least try to help out.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

”STUPID. FUCKING. LOBSTERS.” Renard yelled out loud from his brand new spot on the floor of the pub. To be fair, it was easily the safest place for him right now, aside from a padded room. At least he hadn’t been in the midst of taking a sip of his drink when he fell, because that would have left him wet, sticky, and potentially wading in a pool of alcohol-infused glass. That didn’t take away from the fact that he was beyond frustrated and fed up with the side effects of the mackled malaclaw. One dumb rookie mistake and a week of bad luck to follow. He’d take the mind-numbing depression of a poegrebin again over the malaclaw pinch. This was downright infuriating at this point.

Staying where he was on the floor, Renard could see the bartender peering over the edge at him, and he assumed it was to see what exactly happened. If he really wanted to, he could probably sue the pub for having broken seating and personal injury. But he wasn’t that desperate for money and it would be a waste of his time (and loss of a place to drink). Taking the snapped off part of the leg, he threw it to the side before gently touching his lower back. That was going to be sore tomorrow. Thankfully it wasn’t too late to stop by Slug & Jiggers to grab a pain-relief potion. He was going to need it.

Before he could pick himself back up again – which he really didn’t want to do because it would invite more bad luck induced falls – a young woman started to hover over him. ”I’m bloody fine,” he stated grumpily as he stayed where he was and tried to wave her off. ”They should check these other chairs before someone else falls,” Renard added on, a little louder to make it sound like it wasn’t his fault for it. Technically it was the magical lobster that did it. Merlin, he really hated those things.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

Hearing someone curse out lobsters in a pub was not very common, in Ivanka's experience, though plenty of her experiences probably wouldn't have seemed normal by other people's standards. On that note, lobsters weren't the worst thing to walk—or crawl, or whatever they did—the earth, but that guy definitely had an issue with them. What lobsters had to do with falling over in a pub, apparently drunk, Ivanka didn't know. She also didn't know that she wanted to find out, honestly. Getting stuck listening to some drunken tirade about crustaceans and why they were horrible wasn't her idea of fun. Merlin, getting stuck listening to a drunken tirade about anything wasn't her idea of fun.

Still, she could deal with entertaining some interesting opinions long enough to make sure that the guy who had fallen over was okay. The fall had drawn the attention of the bartender, too, though jumping across the bar counter to tend to a patron probably wasn't the easiest thing in the world.

The good news was that the young man assured Ivanka that he was "bloody fine" as she approached him, and he motioned his hand dismissively. Other than his alcohol consumption, there was nothing to suggest that he wasn't fine. He wasn't bleeding or in any obvious pain, but Ivanka felt bad about just leaving him there on the floor.

"They should check these other chairs before someone else falls," the young man remarked. He might have been right about that; Ivanka wasn't sure. Getting into an argument with someone who had been openly critical of lobsters only moments before about how sturdy the seating options at the Violet Hound were sounded like a pretty stupid thing to do, so Ivanka nodded at his comment halfheartedly.

"Would you like some help getting up?" she offered the man on the floor of the pub. Even though he was (debatably) fine, she held out her arm for him to grab her hand. He didn't have to sit back down if he was paranoid about falling again.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

Renard hesitated at the offer of assistance from the young woman. That could only spell more bad luck for him if he took her hand. Knowing how things had been progressing, if she helped him get back up to his feet, he’d probably end up pulling her onto the ground or doing something else that was completely unprofessional or embarrassing. There was a brief moment where he hesitated and almost accepted, but rolled himself over so that it would be easier to stand up. Trying to do that had its own perils though. Renard knew one wrong move and he could easily throw out his back. Which, now that he thought about it, wouldn’t be all that bad. Being completely immobile in bed meant he couldn’t do anything and thus nothing would happen to him either. Merlin, it seemed like the only relief he’d get from this curse was if that ended up happening!

”I uhh…no, that wouldn’t be smart,” he responded to the woman as he slowly stood up from the ground, brushing off the front of his pants gently. Any fast motions and he was bound to catch a loose thread and completely unravel one leg, or something equally stupid. Realizing that probably needed to provide some context because of her offer, he continued, ”Persistent bad luck. I’ve been bitten by a mackled malaclaw. I don’t think it can transfer, but keeping your distance from me is the smartest thing you can do right now.” A pint being floated by him towards a table bumped gently into his shoulder before it promptly tipped itself over midair, spilling beer down his shoulder and the front of him. Renard let out a long sigh as it finished, and then knocked him in the side of the head as it turned around and headed back towards the bartender, who was already apologizing for it profusely. As if he didn’t already smell like stale, spilled booze.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

In spite of her offer, the young man instructed her not to help him up off the floor. Ivanka thought that the way in which he had phrased his response was sort of strange, mentioning something about how it "wouldn't be smart" of her to assist him. She definitely didn't hear that every day, but it became clearer to her that the young man wasn't actually inebriated, even though she had previously assumed him to be drunk. If the fact that he hadn't slurred his words wasn't enough to confirm his apparent sobriety, his ability to get up unaided was.

Ivanka, having been told not to help him, had withdrawn her hand. She didn't know what had prompted the young man to turn down her assistance, but he had sounded sure enough about his position on the matter that she hadn't wanted to try her luck. Without physically helping him up, though, she watched him as he got to his feet.

It turned out that there was an explanation for the young man's peculiar behavior, as he explained to her once he was standing. He was, he said, a victim of bad luck because of a Mackled Malaclaw bite. Though the creatures weren't exactly lobsters, Ivanka understood why he had cursed them out; they were sort of like magical lobsters, only greyish. The young man continued speaking, saying that he didn't think that his Malaclaw-bite bad luck could be transferred to her, but he advised her to keep her distance from him just in case.

After Hag's Fever had been such an issue, Ivanka understood completely why the young man would want to be cautious in a similar sort of way, lest he be the one to start an epidemic of bad luck. She appreciated the warning and nodded her head. "Thanks," she told him as she backed up slightly, as weird as the situation was.

Sure enough, the young man's bad luck was proven when a pint of beer moving in his direction spilled itself on him as though it had been commanded to do just that. Ivanka, who watched it happen, could only wince as he got covered in beer through no fault of his own. To make matters worse, the pint glass hit him in the head as it was being moved back by the bartender.

Ivanka could hardly believe what she had just seen, but it was real. Obviously, it wasn't as bad for her; she hadn't been the one to get a pint of beer poured on her, and she could have just walked away from the situation. "Shall I help you dry off?" she asked the young man hesitantly. She wasn't sure what she could do without having it backfire into more bad luck for him.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

How much longer of this did he have again? A week? According to the creature manual he kept at his desk, at least a week was necessary for the bad luck to wear off. He wasn’t even halfway through, and the last ten minutes had been the worst of it so far. Nothing he had read mentioned if the accidents amplified the longer it went on, or if there was a point where it started to peter out. The only truly safe place for him now would be a padded room and soft foods that were impossible to choke on. Every time he’d eaten over the last few days, he had made sure he was in the presence of others just in case. Choking on a chip sounded like the most pathetic way to die too. Ondina was not getting all of his money that way.

”It’s the third one since I’ve been here and I doubt it’ll be the last,” Renard grumbled as he righted his stool and pulled on his shirt to try and remove some of the most recent beer spillage. A pint was a lot more than the tiny amount that had made it off the bar counter from the last two, and especially so when he was wearing it. ”I don’t know yet if using spells on accidents caused by it has side effects either…” Which meant he was going to have to spell like ale until he made it home. Not the first or the last time that would happen. Being married had caused him to casually drink on way more nights than when he’d been single.

”Another, I guess,” Renard motioned towards the bartender, since he still hadn’t even drank enough for a single beer. That was the most frustrating part. He also didn’t even dare to go for a smoke break. He usually lit them with his wand but had a feeling that would blow up in his face in no time flat. Going through nicotine withdrawal was not helping in the slightest either. ”You want anything?” he asked the girl. ”Since you were nice enough to offer help.”

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

"It's the third one since I've been here and I doubt it'll be the last," said the young man. From the context in which he made that comment, Ivanka knew that he must have been referring to beers, like the one he'd just spilled on himself. It was remarkable in a way, but Ivanka also questioned his judgment. He hadn't developed any luck by the third time, and it was an obvious pattern. While it was possible that he could order another beer and be fine, he could also end up wasting his money gambling on those odds.

What made his predicament even worse was that the young man didn't know if spells intended to alleviate his suffering would have any side effects. There was no telling, honestly. As bad as she felt for him, Ivanka knew that he had reason to be concerned. He wasn't out of his mind, yet the bad luck that was following him around had made him seem unstable. Trying to fix the issue before the effects subsided naturally might be like trying to do magic with a broken wand, reasoned Ivanka: That was, it was possible in theory, but rarely did that broken wand do what its caster intended.

"Another, I guess," the young man told the bartender after he had straightened his stool back out.

He also offered to buy her a drink. Ivanka knew that it wasn't a flirtatious gesture; it was just standard pub etiquette with a bit of gratitude mixed in. She remained hesitant about what to do, though. "Er… I was actually here for a takeaway order," she admitted aloud.

And then it hit her that she didn't want or need bad luck for the start of the academic year. Having that follow her around when she was about to begin an even higher level of studying Curse-Breaking wouldn't be good. It wouldn't be as bad at LIFE as in, say, a cursed Egyptian tomb, but it wasn't something that Ivanka wanted to risk if she could avoid it.

When it came to her food that was waiting for her, she could still pick up her order as planned, and she could reheat it later if she needed to.

"But sure. Thanks." It wasn't really acquiescing, just weighing her options. She looked to the bartender. "Just a butterbeer, please. Er, and I have an order to pick up for takeaway."

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

Right…people came to pubs to eat too. The amount of time Renard spent in bars eating was negligible, unless one counted drinking themselves full as a spinoff of eating. Then maybe he had an argument to make about it. If this stupid curse wasn’t the death of him by the week’s end, then either his wife or his drinking was going to lead him to an early grave. Renard personally hoped for the later. At least then it would be of his own doing. Regardless, he gently inched his stool to the side to give the girl room to sit down on her own, leaving enough space so that if his decided to fall out from underneath him again, he wouldn’t accidentally bring her crashing down too.

Despite waiting for her takeaway, she still joined him, but only for a butterbeer. It was what it was. He didn’t know her situation. Maybe she was on call with St. Mungo’s or something admirable like that. He was just a working Ministry stiff after all. There were hundreds of poor bastards just like him out there. Except he had the exciting luck of being unlucky. And then there was the addition of the mackled malaclaw.

The bartended slid another beer in front of Renard and stepped back and away from him while preparing the butterbeer. Who could blame him? With how things had been going, the glass was going to slip out of his hand and fly across the whole pub next. Carefully concentrating and trying not to move too fast, Renard slipped his fingers around the pint and brought it up to his lips like he was recovering alcoholic that hadn’t had a sip of liquor in decades. ”My suggestion if you ever find yourself around one of those bastards,” Renard began with more unsolicited advice about the malaclaws, ”Is to turn around and walk the other way. And if you do get bit, lock yourself in a padded room.” He slowly returned the glass back down to its waterlogged napkin square and stared at it. At least now he’d had a total of three drinks across all of his spilled beer. That counted for something.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

As much as she had learned about how to keep herself safe from curses and traps that had been put in place by others to guard treasures, very little of Ivanka's Curse-Breaking training had been devoted to the magical creatures she might encounter, apart from the more typical dragons or security trolls. The conditions in the field, from the first year of less structured training she'd received before LIFE existed, weren't such that creatures were usually an issue. Some conditions of the places they went were such that any living thing would have been lucky to survive there for very long, which was why getting in and out quickly was so important.

Though the advice she got about what to do if she came across a Mackled Malaclaw was sort of odd, Ivanka appreciated it. It was better to be prepared for it, she supposed, than to be caught unawares. She wouldn't be able to go straight to a padded room inside a cave or tomb, but she understood the point that the gentleman had made. Being cursed with bad luck from a Mackled Malaclaw bite wasn't something she wanted to experience, and it was better not to get anyone else caught up in it.

Luckily, the beer that the young man requested didn't spill or have anything else unusual happen to it when he received it from the bartender. He was able to sip it and put it back down safely, which must have felt nice for him.

"Noted. Padded room," Ivanka responded seriously as she sat down. There must have been something better than hiding in a padded room and waiting for one's bite-induced misfortune to wear off, but she didn't know of a good alternative offhand. Most likely, he'd already gone to St. Mungo's to get the bite checked out, and they had probably done whatever they did for a Mackled Malaclaw bite. Sticking him in a padded room there seemed like it would have been a bit much.

Next came her butterbeer, followed shortly after by her boxed takeaway order. Just to be safe, Ivanka scooted her food to the side opposite where the young man was seated.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

”Don’t worry,” he almost laughed as the girl moved her newly acquired takeaway box away from him. ”I don’t think I’d even be able to steal whatever you’ve got without accidentally pitching it halfway across the room.” Renard could already see it too: knocking over his third beer in as many minutes, reaching over to stop the flow of amber liquid getting to her food, and then somehow managing to swipe it straight off the bar top. Then, of course, it would land on the top of the bald bloke sitting in the corner, who looked like he could snap Renard’s neck like a toothpick if he was inconvenienced at all. No, it was better if he just sat where he was and moved as carefully as possible. That had worked sort of okay so far, even with the one stool breaking out from underneath him.

Another steady reach for his pint ended successfully, as he slowly sipped on it. There had to be a point where the bad luck had to ‘recharge’, right? Having a string of bad luck one second after the other seemed to happen with some frequency, but there were still periods throughout the day where he was okay. It all depended on how much he steeled himself. ”But just to be safe, you might want to move a little further down anyways,” he added as he placed the glass back down, amazed that it yet again didn’t spill everywhere. If anymore chairs or pints broke today, he’d be barred from the Violet Hound at least until the malaclaw effects wore off. Whenever that might be.

The next drink that followed was a record for the day. Or should have been. Renard tipped the glass back just a little too far and drank slightly faster than he had the last few times. All good things did have to end, and as he choked on the beer that managed to go down his airway instead of his throat, he thought in the moment that this was it. Doing so with water was bad enough, but the alcoholic burn made him retch. Whether or not this was due to his unfortunate situation or because he merely got carried away, he wasn’t sure. It was still bad luck regardless.

Pounding on his chest as he wheezed, he made the smart decision to get off of his stool, which tumbled down after him. Any slower and he would have been on the beer-soaked floor once again. ”M-Merlin’s beard-“ he managed through his coughing fit. At least it was liquid and not food? If this had happened at home, his dear wife would have let him choke to death then and there. His portion of the Goyle gold finally in her coffers.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

The young man reassured her that he didn't think that he could steal her takeaway without his sending it halfway across the room, which Ivanka guessed was true. He'd had quite a run of bad luck, and that was only since she had been in the pub. At least he had a sense of humor about it, Ivanka thought. Even though he technically had control over his body, his being so magically unlucky practically negated that. If he intended something to go one way, then it would probably go the opposite.

Maybe that was it, Ivanka thought, wondering if she might have made a breakthrough. If he could use reverse psychology to effectively undo the bad luck brought on by the Mackled Malaclaw, then he wouldn't have to worry about it as much—or worry about needing to be put in a padded room. It would take more time to think through everything that he did until he was no longer affected by the bite, but it was a potential way around it.

The biggest problem with theorizing, however, was that that was all it was. Ivanka had no idea if her idea would actually work for him, and she didn't get an opportunity to bring it into their conversation. He was doing well with his beer by then, enough that Ivanka didn't feel that she needed to heed his advice about moving down away from him.

Until his bad luck returned, almost as if amplified after its absence. Rather than spill his beer, the young man began to choke on it, and Ivanka watched to see if she needed to step in. It didn't seem that she did; he was soon speaking again and (understandably) complaining about what had happened—including another fallen barstool—but he was able to breathe without needing to be Anapneo-ed.

"Er, is there someone I could contact for you?" Ivanka checked, feeling bad about his predicament but knowing that her increased heart rate from watching him choke was nothing compared to how he must have felt. He probably didn't want to be supervised, but it seemed like a safer option than leaving him unattended.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

The stern glare from the bartender after his stool clattered to the ground once again was enough to tell Renard that he was being cut off after this. For once in his life, his night was ending early not because he was intoxicated, but because he was becoming a liability for the Violet Hound. The call had probably come down from Fortescue, knowing his luck. Maybe if he had spent more time going to their ice cream shop when he was younger instead of being a snob, they would have been more chill with him. The coughing aside, he had caused actual damage, spilled multiple drinks, and was causing a bit of a scene now with his hacking. He sounded like Ondina right now whenever she got fussy and struggled to breathe without her medication.

Speaking of his wife, the young woman was asking if there was anyone she could call for him. Renard hated that his first thought was Ondina. He’d never let that happen though. She would maybe put on a show and play the role of the dutiful wife in public, before jeering at him the second they made it home. On the other hand, she probably wouldn’t want to risk being around him right now. His bad luck was like a plague, despite not being able to catch it from him. Just being in the same vicinity could be enough to cause issues.

Renard spun his wedding band around on his finger, before shaking his head. The only other option he had was his sister, and he didn’t want to bother her when she had actual important work to do. ”No, no…” Renard turned down the offer. ”It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.” As if he needed to give Ondina another reason to look down on him. Every so often he got the upper hand in their ‘relationship’, and he’d gotten too confident as of late. This was the outcome.

Wheezing one last time for good measure, Renard moved up to the bar again to finish the rest of his pint. His abandoned stool stayed where it was on the ground. There was no way he was going to even dare to pick it up again. Knowing the way his bad luck worked, he would end up with a sizeable splinter from it.

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[ivanka luise krum]

August 31, 2028

"No, no… It wouldn't be worth the trouble."

While Ivanka could have asked the young man if he was sure that he didn't want her to contact anyone on his behalf because she didn't mind, they could have gone back and forth like that for the rest of the night. She was stubborn and too nice to leave him alone to suffer the effects of the Mackled Malaclaw bite without doing what she could first. That said, Ivanka was pretty sure that she had exhausted her options. No one could accuse her of not having tried to remedy his bad luck, and she would absolutely have a story to tell Irina, Addy, and Brígh when she got home.

"I'm really sorry I haven't been able to help you," Ivanka apologized, almost wincing. He'd been put through the wringer, after all. It was unfortunate that he was likely to keep encountering others at the pub who would think that he had lost his mind, but it wasn't his fault. "Erm, I'd say, 'Good luck,' but…" There wasn't any point in that, was there? Wishing him good luck wouldn't do anything without a significant supply of Felix Felicis, and they weren't going to come across that at the Violet Hound.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

▲

Suffering through bad luck like this had him thinking a lot about his last few years. If someone could have convinced him that he'd been secretly pinched by a malaclaw once a week to keep up the unfortunate life he'd been running, he would believe it. The complete inconvenience of all of this really out things into perspective. Easily the worst part was how he had willingly put himself into the position of Ondina's orbit, and then continued to allow her gravitational pull to drag him directly into her black hole of a personality. He was worse off being married to her, and he could see it in the way he interacted with others now too. All of it coming to a head because of his current predicament was just lovely.

The young woman apologized to him for not being of any assistance, and Renard waved it off. What could she realistically do anyways? This was the result of not properly preparing for the job. If his division had been fully staffed, he could have had some assistance with it. That obviously meant the chances of multiple unlucky witches or wizards, but the job would have been done quicker and they could have watched out for one another. Alas, the budget wasn't large enough for more hires and no one really wanted to get down and dirty these days.

Taking a small, gentle sip of his pint, Renard finally felt satisfied by the drink. After so many spills and accidents, this was all he'd wanted today. "You have nothing to apologize for," he waved her off. "If malaclaws were any more common, we would have developed a reversal antidote by now." Now that was an idea! Too bad he didn't know of any potioneers that were that invested in inventing. Surely they were out there, right?

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