I'll take the High Road..., Open Tag

[Gideon Campbell]

The motorbike came to a slow, rumbling halt, shuddering between his thighs as the throttle wound down as he stopped at the edge of the Village. Weak early winter sunlight came pouring down his shoulders, warming the leather of his jacket, his boot heels resting lightly on the gravel as he kicked down the stand. It took a movement of complicated grace to stand and sling one well proportioned thigh over the narrow seat of the vehicle. Once he was on firm footing, he yawned and stretched, the creak of bones and the roll of shoulders bringing a groan of satisfaction to his lips.

The edge of the village seemed devoid of life, not even the soft breeze managed to stir the grasses or leaves on either side of the narrow lane of High Street. No insect buzzed, and he was almost certain he could hear the withering of the moss on the large grey stones scattered haphazardly as if tossed by an ill-cautious giant child.

He smelled no bread baking, no fires lit, no whiff of tea. It was as if the rumours were more than true.

A few weeks back he'd caught onto a story, one that spoke to the secret little turns of his mind. Whispers had come on hushed breath that the Forbidden Forest had grown increasingly wild, that a shadow spread out across the area surrounding Hogwarts in a miasma of despair. It wasn't long after that wizards and witches, highly trained Aurors and Curse-breakers... had begun to disappear. Families with long standing histories in Hogsmeade were taking up quick moves into the city, closer and closer to the Ministry.

And yet, no one had questioned such folly.

Until now.

He roughly shoved his hands into the pockets of his well worn jeans. One to clench his keys to prevent them from disturbing the silence around him, the other slowly easing his wand out to have at the ready. He needed no other object from the overfilled saddlebags and with a tap of the deep mahogany length of wood and a softly uttered spell, he managed to hide the motorbike from view.

Then Gideon Campbell began the brisk walk into Hogsmeade.

[* Anne Lydale]

Anne did one last check of the now dimmed and locked library to make sure that everyting was in its place. She hated leaving anything untidy. Once assured that everything was as it should, she opened the small cupboard to the left of her tiny desk and grabbed out her long brown duster. She found that while the duster wasn't very feminine, it at least made her look a little more intimidating on her walk home. Such times were these that she had to look intimidating on her walk home. She tucked her wallet into the inside of her coat, grabbed a stack of books off her desk, and turned towards the large red door.

Shutting off the lights, she paused for a minute to shake off this sense of foreboding she had. She was being silly. Still, there had been a time when the librarian could work after hours without having to lock herself in. She pulled on the gold handle and a blast of cool night air hit her face. She heard the sounds of an engine cut off close by and pulled her coat a little closer. Almost turning back into the library to wait for whoever it was to go, Anne somehow mustered enough courage to pull the locked door tight and take a step off the porch.

Hitting a knot in the wood, Anne went down with a thud and a cry of pain. Her books spilling everywhere, she cursed aloud. She was more upset about her books being ruined than the stabbing pain in her ankle. Although not for long. Though she only lived a few blocks from the library, she doubted she could hobble that far without being noticed at least. If she were noticed by good citizens, wonderful. Though the odds were just as good that at this time of night, the people noticing her would be of a different sort.

Just as Anne had decided to try to pull herself into the library and attempt to call for help, she heard brisk footsteps on the gravel, traveling in her direction. She pulled herself up into a sitting position against her step, poked her wand out of her duster, and waiting to see if it were friend or foe.

[Gideon Campbell]

As the sun sank into diminishing west, and dragging over its weary body the blanket of night, his stroll was a slow, rambling affair that had many frequent stops to investigate a particularly intriguing copse of trees here, an echoed chasm of bricks in abandoned buildings there. It was the kind of reconoiter that would prove useful as a background frame in which he would paint his article. But the near lulling tranquility came to a swift and brutal halt as the man heard the sounds of a damsel in distress.

That sound was the natural call of his breed, and he couldn't help himself.

Wand in his ready hand, the smooth mahogany of it clattering against the silver ring he wore, he broke into a sprint, his eyes flickering back and forth, sweeping the darkness. The rythmic pounding of his boots, the good condition of his tall, muscular frame all lent him a speed as hastily he whispered, "Lumos!"

He could feel the blood in his veins, the thrilling rush of exhiliration as in his mind he conjured images of the most foul beasts, this particular damsel perhaps being accosted by a vampire or a werewolf, and of course, his timing would be impeccable. He often entertained these kinds of fantasies during staff meetings and business lunches, even on occasion at the ballet and the opera. He just hadn't often found use for them in his daily life.

He rounded a corner, dodged his way through a few alleys.

And then, outside of the library, he skidded to a halt, letting one hand rest on his thight and dragging great gulps of air into his lungs.

There on the steps, almost casually, sat a the tiny figure of a girl...no...woman...

And she looked something between angry and scared.

"Er..."

[* Anne Lydale]

A man, tall, dark, and seemingly, though it was hard to see in the light he was half shining in Anne's face, handsome man appeared to have been the cause of the commotion. He came out of the mist, though Anne thought maybe he had been attached to the engine she had heard not all that long ago. There just weren't enough people out at this time if night for it to be anyone else but the good-looking stranger. Not that Anne cared he was good looking. She was in too much pain to notice much about him. And it was probable that he only looked tall because she was on her rump by the steps. It was obvious to her by the puzzled look on his face that he didn't mean to kill her outright.

"Oi. Listen, I seem to have tripped down the stairs and.." Anne took a deep breath, and possibly it was the pain, possibly it was the fear, possibly it was the situation, but she suddenly became bolder than she had been in all her life. "Well, I've hurt my ankle so if you're the person in charge of all these disappearances, well then get on with it and stop gawking!" Anne was cross and didn't have time to be dawdling about. If he was going to kill her, he should get on with it and stop wasting her time. If you had asked her yesterday if her reaction would be like this to a stranger at night, she would have laughed in your face. However, tonight, it seemed oddly appropriate.

Anne had decided to stop being afraid. To stop living her life in fear. Just in that split second, she found she had guts she never knew that she had.

((Ok, all set))

[Gideon Campbell]

For a stunned moment, Gideon could only stand there, and stare as the little woman spoke in a rush of breath and indignation. His chest heaved with slight panting, the length of his fingers curled about his wand. Then, slowly in consternation, he lifted his free, raw boned hand to his neck and began to rub that spot just below the fall of his hair. Grey-green eyes glittered as they swept her face, her figure and then moved skyward to take in the night.

The sky was a black sock speckled by white lint stars.

But his mouth, curved and wicked quirked for several moments. This... wasn't eactly how things were supposed to go. If there was any sense of cosmic justice, he should be rescuing her right now, saving her from something grotesque, not slightly blushing under the weight of her accusation.

When he finally overcame his urge to laugh he brought his hand down from his neck, and wiped it easily on the thigh of his denim before extending her his hand.

"Ya've caught me on a rare generous mood, lass. I've no stomach for killing at the moment. But per'aps ye'd lemme buy ye a cup of coffee fer yer troubles?"

His voice was deep and smooth, the accent pure Glasgow pub variety. And he seemed fairly innocuous even with his joke. She was adorable in her anger, a wee thing he could easily fit into his pocket and carry off. Yet for all her vulnerability, there was a spark of fiery in her tone that told him of someone shy but willing to defend herself. All he wanted to do at that moment was allay her fear of him.

"If coffee doesnae suit ye, I could of course do you in with a curse, but I'd hate to abuse yer books."

[* Anne Lydale]

Anne's face turned a deep shade of violet, she immediately regretted being so forceful with the stranger. It occured her that there was a reason she was shy, to keep her foot out of her mouth. Nevermind that it had this miserably sneaky way of finding its path there again. It had done so time and time again, and she had had thoughts of just chopping the darned thing off and having done with.

"Coffee sounds nice." Anne spluttered. She wasn't exactly the picture of grace, sitting there on a cold step outside the library. "It's just that with all the disappearances.." She trailed off, hopelessy grasping for the words that might explain her plight. "I just... my ankle is hurt." She pointed at it, much as a small child would point at a boo boo. She instantly felt a bit foolish.

"Look, I work here, and I'm a bit nervous about traveling at night. Please forgive my... gruffness. I'm normally not like that at all." Something told her that until the stranger actually got to know her, he might have a hard time believing that.

[Gideon Campbell]

The nerve of some people. It wasn't like he ever asked to be so bold, but of course, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to her. He hunkered down, placing most of his weight on the balls of his feet, the heels of his boots resting under his thighs and hovering as he brought his hands out slowly infront of her, and then very carefully took her injured ankle between the long fingers as to cradle it.

"Yer gang ta need to light yer wand there, lass, so I can take a proper look at it. Now, I'm no mediwizard, but I've had m'self a fair share of Quidditch injuries to be lookin' after."

He spoke to her in a gentle command, the kind of voice one used on small children and wild animals. His palms were warm, dry and surprisingly gentle even though it looked as if he could easily break the bone without much of an effort.

His eyes strayed from her face to the injury.

"If ya don' mind me askin'... whyever would yer husband let you be out alone this time of night, anyway?"

[* Anne Lydale]

She was surprised that his touch was so gentle. He had the hands of someone who had worked alot in their life, but his touch was as soft as her mother's had once been. Anne almost started at it.

Anne twitched her wand and said "Lumos," softly. Her wand always responeded to her without much of a verbal command. It still had to be verbal, but it could almost be a whisper. She held it aloft, attempting not to blind him.

She didn't know exactly what to think about this man. She found his Scottish accent amusing and charming at the same time. Until he asked about a husband.

Anne almost opened her mouth with a loud comment about how did he dare assume such a thing. Instead, realizing she'd made enough of an ass of herself tonight, she took a deep breath. "I have no husband, sir." He's sure not smooth, she thought.

"Listen, I want to start over." Anne said, and put a smile on. "I'm Anne Lydale, pleased to meet you." She extended her hand for him to shake.

[Gideon Campbell]

Gideon's expression bore the hallowed marks of a man slightly put off not by her but by the inexplicable realization that she was single. Something about her brought out his worst (some would say best) instincts, the desire to shelter and protect her... It was quite disconcerting when he could look at a woman and not want to bed her in at least six different ways in as many hours. But she seemed small and fragile and delicate and it wormed its way into his heart strings.

His hand still cupped her ankle, the thumb pressed to the side of the bone as he looked up at her. The light from her wand flashed in his eyes and for a moment before he lowered his lashes, they were an unmistakeable green...not grey or blue, which sometimes they appeared. His mother had called them changeling eyes when he was a boy.

His other hand came up to engulf hers in a warm clasp, not treating it like a wounded creature but instead offering an earthy, realistic shake. "Miss Lydale. Campbell, Gideon..."