multiversallogs | It's not my fault if I live and breathe; Eat, drink, sleep and put on clothes.

It's highly possible - even likely - that Sebastian does not expect Severus to show up. For one, he didn't RSPV, and - well. He's Severus.

But here he is, albeit early; he doesn't want to mingle and he knows full well that "fashionably late" is a trap full of people he doesn't want to talk to or fraternize with. He's not dressed for the occasion but he still looks notably more presentable than the counterpart from Sebastian's own world ever would. Apparently not living jammed under Dumbledore's heel agrees with him.

He finds Sebastian and hands over a plain brown paper-wrapped book tied with a string. There's no card, but Sebastian's name and Open it at home are scrawled on the paper in familiar handwriting.

"Cheers." ... Such enthusiasm.

Whether or not he chooses to stay for dinner, Sebastian looks legitimately quite pleased to see Severus.

"Thank you," he says with an easy smile. It feels like a book and with such a warning on the wrapping, Sebastian is sure it's bound to be fascinating. "Now that I'm not quite so shaky on my feet, if you'd like to come out and join Malfoy in throwing me about the grounds at Hellsing, you're welcome to."

He'll stay until at least one other person has arrived - not out of a sense of manners, but from his ingrained social bitterness projecting; rationally, he knows Sebastian has friends (quite a few, even) and that certainly everyone will show up, but the idea of ditching him by himself at a restaurant still chafes at his inner sixteen year old.

A curt not that passes for 'you're welcome' (fascinating is certainly a word one could use), and takes a seat. Not close enough to be chummy but not so far away as to prompt anyone to speak louder. "I think I might turn to dust inside Hellsing," he observes.

"A valid concern. If you are interested and would rather move elsewhere, just let me know." The benefit of practicing on Hellsing property is that no one looks at them even slightly askance for throwing hexes at each other in a field. That's putting aside the fact that Sebastian seems willing to trust Severus not to reduce him to a greasy smear within moments of beginning a duel.

"I'm still a mess on the field and if I had any dignity left to sacrifice, I'd be shocked. Although, I did nearly make Malfoy heave." Small victories?

That trust is an afterthought to Severus - assumed. It hasn't occurred to him that it might be unusual for Sebastian (Harry) or that he might find Severus' lack of suspicion about it strange.

"He's got a few buttons that get funny, when you figure them out." His smiles are never comforting, but he seems genuinely amused at that. He slides a cigarette out of a black box, offers Sebastian one. "I wouldn't mind, if you'd like to get some air someday."

"Brilliant." He accepts the cigarette with a nod to show his thanks. While it's not something he too often indulges in, a smoke on his birthday is hardly the worst possible thing he could be doing. "Now that I don't have the strength, I'm having to really work at altering my style."

Severus should probably cut back, but let's be honest: smoking isn't going to kill him.

"That sort of thing can take time even with strength," he admits. Sebastian has surely noticed at least in part how far off the beaten path Severus has gone with his own magic, approaching it with a kind of guerrilla intensity, with nothing held sacred. He wants all of it. "I'd hoped my counterpart had put you through the steps at some point, but judging from the state of things a few weeks back, I take it your dueling instructors were more on the polite side."

Not that, for the record, he thinks said counterpart was doing anything interesting after all - but regardless of dogma, it's difficult to have too wide of an edge on Severus Snape in that department.

"Dueling is not an appropriate thing to teach to children. Don't you know, they could get hurt, Severus." Save the disaster with Draco and the snake, he and the other children had very little beyond a few short and very formal lessons. "Being self-taught had its drawbacks, but it did make most of us wildly unpredictable. Which was good, in a way."

The expression he makes is answer enough to the first remark. Severus knows that Dumbledore's authority was ultimately useless and very dangerous, but he himself is still young - too young to have ever seen first-hand the headmaster's means of managing the Boy Who Lived. Some part of him still doesn't grasp the full impact of just how bad it was - not out of any faith in his mentor being generous, but out of faith in him being a biased twat. Harry Potter is a Gryffindor, after all.

But that's a conversation for another day.

"It's easier to knock either side on its arse when you color outside the lines," he agrees, his tone of voice suggesting that might have been a joke. (The number of wizards and witches that Severus may have dispatched while in the service of the Dark Lord remains, as ever, a complete mystery.) "It's good, though, getting your feet back under you here."

As opposed to home sweet home, land of misery.

And what a day that will be.

"Very much so. I'm confident that I'll return to Britain one day, but I don't want it to be any time too soon." There are moments when he's unsure that he ever should've left, but those are fleeting thoughts that he can tell are pointless and counter-productive as soon as he has them. It's not just that he wouldn't have been of use to those that remained, but that he was achingly miserable. The process of learning to value his own life has not been easy.

"That Britain isn't the center of the universe is the most important thing any witch or wizard can learn," he says - perhaps cryptically. (Does Sebastian wonder, sometimes, why Severus assumes such passive familiarity with him, despite being too young to have taught Harry at school yet? Who knows.)

"A horrid thing to talk about on your birthday, though. Hopefully someone capable of more cheer will materialize soon." Dry.

"If we're very lucky, there may even be party hats." Isn't that what you've always wanted, Severus? A paperhat with a bit of glitter? "Although, I'm not entirely sure this is my birthday, but it's close enough that no one will begrudge me a bit of shoddy timekeeping. I don't know yours though."

From the time he left Bete Noire to his arrival in Baedal, there were a few extra weeks as he and the Malfoys traveled south and away from Britain. It was a good time.

Hell would sooner freeze.

"That's fine," he muses, of his own birthday. Something about his tone says that he has suffered a great many unwanted attempts at infusing some cheer and festivity into his life through the day, and is now permanently suspicious of the entire affair. "It's already passed."

"Pick a date and I'll stand you a drink." It's the least he can do. "Or, if that's not for you, revel in the fact that you've got me owing you one for as long as you'd like."

"Considering my inability to hold more than a suggestion of alcohol, I'll opt to lord something over you from afar." That sounds almost like he's making a joke again! Good heavens. It's also an interesting admission, though perhaps the knowledge that Professor Snape is a cheap date isn't anything anyone wants to have.

The short notice means that she can't knit anything, but she does spend a good amount of time in a bookstore fretting over volumes of poetry; she finally settles on a copy of Sara Teasdale's Flame and Shadow and acquires a bag of homemade dog treats for Velcro. She arrives on time, the book wrapped in nice maroon-colored paper and tied with a red ribbon under her arm.

She takes a deep breath and smiles, seeing Sebastian; it occurs to her that they haven't spoken in person for quite some time. "Hi," she says, and holds out her packages.

"Hullo, Jones. Thanks for making it out," he says before accepting the gifts with an honest smile and gesturing for her to sit. Assuming she does, Velcro will trundle over and make himself and his need for attention known. "May I open it now or should I wait?"

"Oh, feel free to open it now," she says, sitting, folding her hands in her lap. "And let me know if you already have a copy and I can swap it for one of the others I was considering; I know you have quite a lot of—well, I suppose you'll see once you open it, go on."

"I've heard of her, but I don't have this one. Thank you so much," he says and is honestly pleased by the thoughtful gift. Sebastian is glad that they're sitting and he isn't then obligated to give her a hug.

"Oh, I'm glad! It was a little funny; the shopkeeper was very keen on telling me it was vintage, but I had the same copy at home that I bought nearly-new." If she ever ends up being able to leave, she's bringing all her books back with her. It's a small collection, but one she's very proud of. The Queen had better not have done anything to it.

"How have you been? Ah—I can't believe I almost forgot—how's having your magic back?"

"...yeah. Wait, what?! No."

The restaurant's door opens, and Hellboy pauses halfway through walking in to listen to the person on the other end of his CiD call.

"Listen," he says, and then realizes he should do what he can to crank down his volume and cup his hand over his mouth and the microphone. "I know it's a big, carnivorous monster, but it's basically a snail. You've got the salt, so find it and hose it down before it kills again. I'm supposed to be off tonight, so don't make me come out there, okay? Okay."

Hellboy hangs up and puts the CiD away. After a brief, incredulous shake of his head, he brightens up and makes his way to Sebastian's table with a smile. "Hey, there. Hope I'm not late." From his coat pocket, he passes over a package whose plain brown wrapping does nothing to hide the proportions of a hardcover book. "A little slice of another world's weird reality."

Which is to say, Hellboy figures that actual wizards would make the book's events as unlikely in Sebastian's world as they would be in his own.

"You're on time and if you need garlic butter, I'm sure the staff here can help out." Pleased with the book, he skims over the back and laughs before putting it aside and gesturing for HB to find a place at the table. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that some forms of governmental madness are universal constants?"

"Garlic...?" Hellboy's brow wrinkles in confusion for a moment, until he realizes that he hadn't been quite as quiet as he'd hoped on the call. "Oh, uh, yeah, no, probably a bad idea." With a shake of his head and a dismissive wave, he takes his seat. "Guess so. Their attempts back home didn't get too far. They called something up that we had to put down for them, and that was that."

Sol is running late - there was a dog-and-child emergency when the sitter showed up that slowed him down - but he does, eventually, manage to make it to the Ankh on time. They know him here (he remembers his first night in Baedal, Integra bringing him for something to eat and the standard game of catch up, he'd got into the habit), and know to point him towards where Sebastian has got himself set up--

“Happy birthday, kid,” he says. The card is a photograph of the Corbarian wearing a party hat and chewing on a bone that's been made up to look like a cigar, because of course it is, and that wasn't even Liesl's idea. (Sol's resistance to dog is slowly waning, worn down by constant affection.)

"It's brilliant, Sol." The card is great and he's entirely convinced that Velcro is jealous of the Cobarian's jaunty, yet refined, hat. If there are no complaints, as Sebastian stands to greet him, Sol is likely to even get a hug to welcome him to the party. "I'm glad you could make it out and I think you know most everyone here?"

There are a few handyman-related folks in attendance as well as a possibly fae shop owner. Ahem.

Lucius realizes belatedly that he may not know anyone unconnected with Hellsing or his home anymore, but that's a worry for another time. Once Sol finishes his pleasantries with the man of the hour, Lucius raises a hand in greeting.

"Managed to get an evening away, I see. Good for you."

Lucius, at home, had something of a talent for small talk. He'd been doing it for most of his life, and it was hardly that he had forgotten how. However, people usually already knew who he was before they'd even met him. As a result, he's rubbish at introductions.

While he's happy to talk to Sebastian himself, everyone present wants some of Sebastian's time. He's going to have to speak to someone else eventually. If they can just get started, perhaps it will work.

Jones doesn't know many of the others at the party; she has never precisely kept a wide circle of friends, and isn't terribly social. But it's just uncomfortable to stand around not speaking to anyone, and she thinks maybe Anna's mentioned working with someone looking a great deal like the blond gentleman over there at Hellsing; she might as well introduce herself.

"Hello," she says. "You're—" She was about to ask a friend of Sebastian's?, before realizing that of course he was, why else would he be here. "You're with Hellsing, right? My name's Jones; I'm Anna Demirovna's roommate, if you know her."

"Yes - I'm Lucius Malfoy." He's probably not made enough small talk with Anna to have heard of Jones through her, but he mainly looks mildly relieved to be speaking with someone. "I mostly do ward services, for Hellsing. I'm afraid I don't recall if I've done yours - in the early days, I was doing quite a few."

"Oh, are you a mage, then? I've been doing my own—I actually didn't think to ask, actually, although I think someone told me once that it was a service that could be purchased around here." She laughs. "You know, I've been here more than a year, and it's still strange to see magic out in the open?"

"It is," he agrees, relaxing almost imperceptibly. "I prefer 'wizard,' but the difference is mainly cultural, rather than practical, as far as I can tell. But yes, at home, it's not something that people are generally aware of unless they can do magic themselves."

"Are you a wizard like Sebastian, then? That was the same term he used.

"Although—I used to think that maybe if we could bring magic back to be for everyone, close the Abyss, things would be better, maybe, but even here they have a lot of the same problems..." Worse ones, in some ways, though not others.

"Much like," he says with a nod. "He and I are from... different versions of the same world, I suppose, a bit apart in time. That's a daft-sounding sentence," he adds with a small laugh, after a pause.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the Abyss, though - what do you mean, for everyone?"

"There really isn't an adequate vocabulary for time and space travel, is there?" She laughs.

"And about the Abyss, well, I suppose magic works differently cross-universe—well, I'm not entirely sure how your kind of magic works, but for us... at one time, it's told, magic was much more common and everyone had the potential to learn it."

She looks up, thoughtfully. "I don't know if it's exactly like the myths say, but I can sort of believe that at some point some people decided that they wanted more power but didn't want anyone else to have it, and so did something to weaken the connection humanity had with magic and created the Abyss in its place. They couldn't break it completely, I guess, since mages still Awaken to this day, but it's a war that mages still fight today, to reinstate it."

It's a bit of a startling thought, for Lucius - a world with no muggles at all, or no true muggles as he knows them.

"In our world, there's no potential. One is either a wizard or witch, or one isn't." He doesn't go into things like squibs; the principle still holds. "One can receive a variety of training, but in all but the most extreme situations, I could no more stop being a wizard than stop breathing. And I would have about as much desire to." Potential was only applicable to young children, and even then some manifested early enough it was clear.

"But if it's long enough ago for it to be a myth, you must be used to it, your way."

"I suppose that's a little like if everyone was like my colleague Vivian—her family has largely been mages for generations, I believe. Genetic, then? Hence the schools for magic. We almost never have Awakened children, actually... I mean, I was pretty young as things go, at sixteen...

"And—yes, it's been that was as long as I've known magic, anyway; as long as anyone can remember, I guess, unless any of the Archmages are that old, I suppose. Everyone's used to it and knows how to work around it, but I think nearly everyone also sort of wishes we didn't have to operate in secret."

"We've had laws for secrecy ever since the mu- the people without magic started trying to burn us a few centuries ago. The popular conception was that it was best not to let them keep trying until they found something more effective." Cheery!

"I suppose our worlds have a few things in common—I heard America had a series of witch-burnings a couple centuries ago—although I wouldn't be surprised if most of the ones who got burnt weren't mages." Her expression sours. "In fact, I'd suspect some of us were doing the burning. The number of mages who think that magic is a convenient way to keep others down is not insignificant, unfortunately. It's not the Sleepe—er, non-magical people we're hiding from."

"That isn't unfamiliar. Most of our conflicts tend to be internal as well." Arguably because English wizards did their damndest to pretend muggle society didn't exist, but even so. Though Lucius isn't so much of a hypocrite that he'll comment on "keeping others down," either.

"We call them muggles. People without magic."

"We are all our own worst enemies," she says, with a half-smile. "Oh, we call them Sleepers—that was what I was about to say before—because they haven't Awakened yet, but they might someday, right. 'Muggles'—hah, it's a bit of a funny word, isn't it. I wonder where it comes from?"

"I'm not entirely certain," he says, almost surprised. "I suppose I never thought much about the etymology. There are squibs, now and then, too - people whose family can do magic, but they can't."

Which is one of the most wretched fates he could imagine, and it shows; some cultural mores fade less quickly than others.

"Ah, I suppose that would be notable if your entire family could do magic, but you couldn't..." How do the genetics work, if it is genetics? It must at least have a genetic component. "I imagine that would be, well, lonely." And sometimes the reverse is true, too; she wishes, often, that magic was something that she could share with her family... but it's something that none of them would understand.

"Although at least then you know by adolescence or so if it's going to happen. We don't have many long-running families of mages, but there's a handful of Sleepwalkers born to them that are getting on in years and still holding out hope, since it can happen at any age as long as the circumstances are right."

"You're right, I do think that would almost be worse," he says, mildly horrified at the thought. At least squibs knew with certainty, and could choose to carve out a place in the world they were born to or leave - both bad choices, true, but you knew what you had to work with. But that sort of hope...

"So clearly, then, it's more than just knowing magic exists that causes an awakening then?"

"Oh, certainly," she says. "There are a good deal of folk who know about magic who aren't awakened—friends, family, people who've had other contact with the supernatural, for instance—" She pauses to think for a moment. "The Awakening often requires, well... some kind of triggering event. It's different for everyone, of course, but for a lot of people, it's tied to some memorable event. The sort of thing that would change your life all on its own."

Don't ask about mine, don't ask about mine—

He's tempted, but thinks it's a bit personal for a first meeting. Instead, he says, "So the difference between mages and sleepers, in your world, is the way they react to that event in their own life?"

She blinks. "I never really thought of it that way, but that sounds about right. People who Awaken tend to be more, well... proactive in their responses, you could say, which would make sense for those who would attempt to reshape the universe."

"It's easy to forget, sometimes, that's what magic is." In his world, it's so taken for granted that now and then he forgets that it gives them the ability to remake the world - even if in small, rote ways more often than not.

(It's hard to forget, when he's experimenting.)

"It really is! I suppose I largely think of it that way because I've always been somewhat preoccupied with changing the world in more mundane ways..." She looks a little bit wistful at that.

"...So I've just realized," Rachel says, in a bit of a stage whisper to the person beside her, "that I know, like, nearly no one here besides the birthday boy. I should really work on that. Or, like. Work on getting out more. You think?"

Hello, fellow dinner attendee. Depending on who you are, this is either an observation or a try at a clever icebreaker.

(She's so fond of the idea, she's likely to repeat it throughout the evening.)

It's not my fault if I live and breathe; Eat, drink, sleep and put on clothes.

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AND THEN I FELL OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH aaa sorry

No worries <3

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