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bait_backup2011-01-23 12:11 am
bodingill.livejournal.com) wrote in bait_backup2011-01-23 12:11 am
Entry tags:
The undisclosed desires in your heart
*Broderick Bode's weary, unblinking eye yawns into view, it's enormous deity-like watchfulness taking up the entire circle of the magnifying glass, making his pupil nearly the size of a dessert plate. It disappears for a moment, replaced by an almost obscene closeup of chin as he glances up to double check the readings. When the eye returns, it stares down at his giant hand below the glass, turning the small dial a minuscule amount to the left, checks again, even smaller back toward the right, and then the glass goes blank.
Crossing his eyes momentarily to relieve them of the strain of using the magnifier all evening, Bode leans back into his chair to check his watch and idly realise he's missing his Sunday night radio programme. Fools theorising alien abductions over the wireless as he chuckles down at his sandwich-makings, it's one of the highlights of his weekends and he sighs dowerly at it's loss. He could have been home with plenty of time, usually only working til lunchtime on Sundays, had it not been for the miniature device in front of him. Blipping innocently at twenty second intervals had seemed charming enough when he'd sat down to it, but after two and a half weeks he isn't bothered to admit that it's not as amusing as radio conspiracy theories and more or less makes him wish for ear plugs.
Staying late, however, is sometimes necessary, especially when working with a machine that seems fond of getting distracted by other magical objects than the one it's been asked to find and switching over from scanning Europe to scanning southeast Asia sometime last week without him being any the wiser. Remembering this sabotage, Bode leans forward again to check it's current location. Just in case. The ancient mirror he's looking for has been in records for as far back as Ministry paperwork goes, but only recently has it been marked available for funded searching, about the time this finicky machine had found it's way into Bode's life. The last known owner of the mirror has been dead for long enough and it's yet to be claimed, and after one mistake already he doesn't want any more slipping into other countries and making his scan have to start all over again.
The signal of colours splayed out above the device, a fan shaped light show, waver and sway like the aurora borealis if it were condensed into a child's nightlight. It's thin dowsing antenna waves about in time with the lights, always chasing them like a dizzied dog, but it has yet to fall on the particular shade he's tuned it to look for. At least he knows the general area of Britain it should be in now - it's signal so much closer than it had been over in useless Papua New Guinea - and Bode lets himself get a little hypnotised there in the dark room, counting between it's bleeps as it moves along trying to latch on to the right spot.
Of course the Mirror of Erised won't be bringing him riches or fame or a radio that gets proper reception, no matter what he might see if he looked into it, but it will bring back his Sunday nights off, and who in all the DoM would deny the possibilities of studying something that shows the deepest desire of a man's heart. Now that, he thinks as he picks a bit of sleep crust out from his eye, is bound to be worth quite a lot.*
Crossing his eyes momentarily to relieve them of the strain of using the magnifier all evening, Bode leans back into his chair to check his watch and idly realise he's missing his Sunday night radio programme. Fools theorising alien abductions over the wireless as he chuckles down at his sandwich-makings, it's one of the highlights of his weekends and he sighs dowerly at it's loss. He could have been home with plenty of time, usually only working til lunchtime on Sundays, had it not been for the miniature device in front of him. Blipping innocently at twenty second intervals had seemed charming enough when he'd sat down to it, but after two and a half weeks he isn't bothered to admit that it's not as amusing as radio conspiracy theories and more or less makes him wish for ear plugs.
Staying late, however, is sometimes necessary, especially when working with a machine that seems fond of getting distracted by other magical objects than the one it's been asked to find and switching over from scanning Europe to scanning southeast Asia sometime last week without him being any the wiser. Remembering this sabotage, Bode leans forward again to check it's current location. Just in case. The ancient mirror he's looking for has been in records for as far back as Ministry paperwork goes, but only recently has it been marked available for funded searching, about the time this finicky machine had found it's way into Bode's life. The last known owner of the mirror has been dead for long enough and it's yet to be claimed, and after one mistake already he doesn't want any more slipping into other countries and making his scan have to start all over again.
The signal of colours splayed out above the device, a fan shaped light show, waver and sway like the aurora borealis if it were condensed into a child's nightlight. It's thin dowsing antenna waves about in time with the lights, always chasing them like a dizzied dog, but it has yet to fall on the particular shade he's tuned it to look for. At least he knows the general area of Britain it should be in now - it's signal so much closer than it had been over in useless Papua New Guinea - and Bode lets himself get a little hypnotised there in the dark room, counting between it's bleeps as it moves along trying to latch on to the right spot.
Of course the Mirror of Erised won't be bringing him riches or fame or a radio that gets proper reception, no matter what he might see if he looked into it, but it will bring back his Sunday nights off, and who in all the DoM would deny the possibilities of studying something that shows the deepest desire of a man's heart. Now that, he thinks as he picks a bit of sleep crust out from his eye, is bound to be worth quite a lot.*
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A wandering word from another has lead him to believe that Broderick Bode's curiosities have been eating up on a great deal of his leisure time, such time that Augustus is certain most men would rather be spending at home. Making a show out of being consumed by some undoubtedly fascinating subject with a rustle of parchment set in the crook of his arm, Augustus turns his head towards Broderick Bode, raising an eyebrow in surprise before smiling amicably.*
You're still at work as well, Broderick?
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Seems to be. No rest for the wicked, or so I've heard.
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*The device bleeps again and Bode leans over the huge magnifying glass again as he continues, his voice droning on.*
It's locating a mirror, but it's origin information got lost it was unclaimed for so long, so all we know about it is what it shows people. Shows their desires, right there in the glass. Apparently, it's considered to be quite a trick to use properly, though there're couple documentations of it sending people mad.
no subject
He continues what he likes to call his Working-Class Wizard Act: friendly, downright trustworthy and even a touch naive in a scenario like this one, what Rookwood considers to be annoying with a side of simpering.*
Sending people mad? I hope Dark magic isn't involved... but, then again, it would be difficult for some people to always see a desire they knew they couldn't gain ahold of.
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*Bode stops, and returns to his thought with a dreary, short-lived chuckle.*
...And providing there isn't anything Dark about it. I don't imagine Mr. Crouch'd be thrilled about putting that into the legal system if it were.
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Have you told the others about this research project?
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