Initalization - Judas Morrigan Returns, Enter Stage Right. [Open]

[Judas Morrigan]

Judas looked up at the squat, nondescript building sadly, sighing in nostalgia. He knew that it would never be the same as he remembered it. Too many people missing. Lily, James, Sirius, Caradoc, Alice, Frank, Fabian, and Gideon...among others. Gone forever. Idly, he wondered how many of the old Order were still alive after all this time.

The tall Auror laid a hand on the old wooden door, hesitating only slightly to push it inwards. His eyes clouded slightly, taking in the familiar sights and smells. There was Tom, the barkeep. Couple of hags in the corner. Various wizards drinking and eating. 'If I'm this bad at the Cauldron, I wonder how it'd be when I see ...Hogwarts again. No, not this time. Something happened to it, that's right. Shame,' he thought.

He shrugged his slightly faded blood-red robes on, covering his Muggle clothing, wand holster, and the pistol in its holster that he'd obtained before coming here. It paid to have contacts in the Provos, Judas knew. He patted the robes down, making sure that the clips in the pockets were still there and walked fully into the Cauldron. Judas stopped at the bar, waiting for Tom to come around to his end and likely exclaim, "Judas Morrigan. My word, it's been a long time." Same old Tom.

As the barkeep lived up to his expectations, Judas ordered a Firewhisky and hoped that someone at Order headquarters had gotten the owl that he'd sent before coming here to wait for contact. Just like last time. "I wonder, how lon' it'll take 'em this time?", he mused, nursing his drink at one of the tables in the far corner of the room.

Hopefully, whoever came would recognize him.

[+ Eleiunbora Moody]

It was only a matter of small minutes before a shadow darkened the way behind him. The owner of that shadow seemed to know enough to give personal space, to not make things so personal as to touch his shoulder and put him at ill ease.

The person the shadow belonged to was a woman. She was unsually tall and long of limb, standing easily just under six foot. Strawberry blonde hair framed her face in whisps that shimmered under the dingey light. Oval face, delicate bones, green eyes that seemed to gaze forever steadily. She did not wear formal robes, but instead a tailored black pantssuit made her stand out amongst the crowed.

The voice, when it came, was soft and sensible, the thick Scots brogue at once familiar and not, for Alastor Moody had never been so poised, though that is who she reminded people of.

"Unfortunately, Mistair Mairgaan, I'm the extent of yer welcome wagain. Can I buy ye a drink?"

Her persusal of him was casual, slightly cold. Impersonal. At least, that is what her expression would lead one to think, she had a hell of a poker face. She raised a hand, long fingered and delicate at once, offered it to him. "Auror Moody, at yer servaice."

[Judas Morrigan]

Judas shrugged lightly and grasped the woman's hand firmly. "Ha'e a seat, Miss Moody. Ye'd be lil' Elei, would ye? Good Lord, it's been years since I've seen you. At your Da's funeral, wasn't it? Knee-high to a grasshopper back then." The Irishman waved Tom down, motioning to their table. "Care for a drink, Elei? Aye, but you do take after ol' Alastor with that face of yours. I'd hazard a guess tha' he taught it tae ye. How is the ol' bugger, these days?"

The old Auror smirked at the quip about welcoming parties. "I know certain events are pressing, even for old friends like Alastor and his band. Might I assume you deciphered my post, and shown it to the appropriate people?" Judas' verbal prodding did have a point. If no one had seen his letter, the Order wouldn't know he was actually here and likely try to hex him on sight as a Death Eater impostor. Well, Alastor would, at any rate.

Morrigan nursed his Firewhisky in one hand, the other containing his wand and resting comfortably on the table. "No worries, there are several privacy wards on this table. I cast them when I sat down. Speak guardedly, all the same."

[+ Eleiunbora Moody]

She returned the shake, surprisingly strong and steady for a woman, then when they broke the contact, she slid easily into the seat opposite of him. She laid her hands on the table, clasping them together, her gaze intent on his face. When he spoke his recognition of her, she was vaguely surprised, she didn't think he'd have recognized her. Her early childhood was spent cavorting with Gideon Prewett and Nicholai, both of whom she'd had terrible crushes upon.

The mention of her father's funeral provoked no physical reaction whatsoever, her face still as blank and pristine as before. However, deep inside, she almost flinched. It wasn't something she'd ever really gotten over, and had always idolised the man in memory. Added to the fact that there was an uncanny resemblence between Gregor Moody and Judas Morrigan, she couldn't help but wonder how interconnected their families were. Of course, most of the old wizarding blood was somehow mixed if one looked deep enough.

"If its all the same, I'll take a cup of coffee. Technically, I'm on duty fer another twa hours." She made no mention of the "face" as she was still wondering if she would take it as a compliment or not. The years had been unkind to her uncle, and she could only imagine what current strains were doing to all the Order members these days.

"As a matter of fact, with the death of Professor Dumbledore.." She gave a fluttering wave of her hand, assuming she need not explain further. His death had shattered the uneasy peace within the Order, and it was rapidly becoming a dog eat dog matter, a show down between Minerva who thought they should wait, and Alastor who thought they should throw caution in the wind. If Morrigan was legitimate, he'd soon enough discover this for himself. "Aye, Uncle Alasdair got the note, was the one that deciphered it fer ta rest o' us. Still, ye unnerstand why he wants ta meet wi' ya himself when he can afore we take you to HQ."

Alastor and the others on "their" side were even now out and scouting a new location for the Order, Grimmauld place being compromised. They would still keep it, as the "face" of the Order to avoid rousing suspicion for those who knew they existed, but it wouldn't be as it had been before Sirius had died.

When he mentioned to speak guardedly, she felt one corner of her mouth twitch in amusement. She was a Moody, and had been an Auror and Order member for nearly nine years now. If she hadn't learned a thing or two, she'd have one foot firmly planted in the grave.

"The one thing Uncle Alasdair wasnae forthcoming wi' was the nature o' yer return. I had heard you were disdainful of The Ministry, an' it's practices. Wha' brings ye back, then?"

[Judas Morrigan]

Morrigan sighed a tad wearily, passing a hand over his forehead and knocking back a shot glass of Firewhisky. "Not bad." He glanced at the glass and set it back on the table. "I dinnae mean to stir up memories, but I suspect that this is going to be far from pleasant for either of us." Judas gazed out over the bar, both acutely aware and distant as Ireland itself. He rubbed his scarred face absently with his uncovered right arm, which trailed down to trace the heavy scarring underneath his single armored gauntlet. "Aye. Not going to be pleasant at all."

He snapped back to the present, suddenly moving to wave Tom down for her drink. "Agh, nearly forgot abou' yer coffee. Oy, Tom, over here." Judas raised an arm, beckoning the aged bartender over for an order. "Good to see you again, Tom. The lady here will have a cuppa coffee, and I'll take the same." Judas waited patiently for the older man to putter off to get the drinks after making small talk before talking again.

"Yeh, I'd 'eard about' Dumbledore. Nasty business, that. If I ever get my hands on tha' traitor, I'll 'ave no compulsion against nailing him to the wall by his arms and lettin' 'im bleed out." Morrigan growled quietly, his Belfast brogue emergin from the tamer and crisper tones he reserved for conversation.

Judas composed himself slightly again and apologized. "I've no righ' to take tha' tone with ye now, particularly when ye don' deserve it." The polished metal-and-leather covering his left arm came to rest on the table, a grim reminder of the last time he'd been in England. "Right, tae business." He took a deep breath and began. "You'd be correct in yer assumptions that I despise the Ministry and its agenda. However, I am one of the few veteran Aurors left from the Dark Lord's first rise. This grants me a degree of freedom in dealing with the local management. Seein' as how I've been over in Ireland the last sixteen, seventeen years, I've not been a nuisance to any corrupt politicos around."

"As such, I have a bit of influence in the DMLE. I transferred to the Belfast region soon after the fall of Voldemort in Eighty-One, and have been running the local constabulary since. Recently, news reached me about Voldemort's rebirth. I applied for a transfer back to the mainland two years ago. When it was about to be approved, Fudge was ousted and Scrimgeour rubberstamped the transfer without a second thought. When it was on its way through the bureaucracy, I learned of Dumbledore's death and the...whatever it is that happened to Hogwarts. I arrived here not three days ago, on a 747 from Belfast to Heathrow. Sorry, Muggle transport." Morrigan paused to thank Tom for their coffees and set them on the table, sipping his slowly.

"When I arrived," he continued, "I posted a letter to a known Order member in the code we used back then. It's a simple cipher, but most wizards couldn't break it because it was immune to decryption spells. The thing is so simple, it's not considered a valid code by the spells. No spell can crack a code that was not made by another spell. One o' the principal laws of magical cryptography, and a flaw no-one's corrected since time immemorial." Judas raised his glass in a pseudo-salute. "Thank God for general stupidity. Sometimes it's a valuable asset. But you asked me why I returned. I returned...because I cannae in good consience, let this happen again while I sat idle. I returned because I am a warrior. I returned because I am a Morrigan, and we do not fail. If I fail, I consider that a fate worse th'n death. So," he snorted and looked over the rim of his cup, sipping it slowly. "What'll i' be, Miss Moody? Takin' me tae yer uncle aer sendin' me back to Belfast? I'll remind ye that he's likely got you bugged anyhow, and you can hardly refuse another fightin' wand at this stage."