(no subject)
For: kaesa
Prompt: Something with Cursebreakers.
Title: But the Cubs Still Suck
Word count: 2782
Rating: PG-13, but only because of a few repeated instances of the F-bomb.
Genre: Infodump. Gen.
Note: I cannot apologize enough for this, but the idea wouldn't go away. It is ludicrous. I wrote it, and so I figure I might as well post it. All obnoxious bashes and offensive blanket statements are meant in the most good-natured way possible. Takes place in recent era, late 2004 to nowish.
There were times that being a federally employed Cursebreaker was pretty awesome, Kennedy Phillips had to admit. There was travel! Intrigue! Tourist attractions! Food that gave you acid reflux later! The pay wasn't bad either, mostly because the US Department of Magic had their hands full with the curses in New York City alone (incidentally HQ's location, which no one believed was an accident), nonetheless all the ones across the country. Cursebreakers, especially good ones, could work for almost any price they wanted.
Suffice it to say that Kennedy never had to eat takeout, even though she was eating it now. Her feet were propped up on her desk as she gracefully dug lo mein out of a plastic Chinese takeout container, a case file in her lap. There weren't that many genuine curses out there, honest to God and apple pie curses that couldn't be solved by any old nurse at a magical walk-in clinic. The ones that were genuine tended to be old, nasty, and foreign, and in Kennedy's experience, the casters tended to fit those same three criteria. Not that Kennedy had a problem with foreigners more than she had with anyone else; she had a bias against all people who sucked. The job was great, but both cursers and the cursed tended to get stubborn and bitchy, and generally sucked.
Part of people sucking was their inability to calculate their own luck probability before they came and wasted government time and money. There were enough books on the formulae of luck (the Rasputin Variable and Murphy Quotient). Hell, wizards at the Seattle Arithmancy Institute were putting out a book a year. People sucked. A cat dying was not indicative of a curse. Four in a row, now maybe. It wasn't hard.
"You won't believe this." One of her team members, Vince Sasso, leaned into her cubicle without a damn word of warning. Startled, Kennedy choked on a noodle and flipped him off pre-emptively before he laughed at her coughing (which he did).
"Asshole. What won't I believe?" She gestured him impatiently into her cubicle.
He set down a massive case file. "Live one. This is insane."
Skeptically, she swung her feet down and flipped the folder open. Once her glasses were properly up on her nose, she leaned forward and stared at the name of the person who filed the report. "No," she said, already starting to snigger.
Vince snapped his fingers. "Yes, and fuck me, old Toto was right. Told us all along, d'you think he'll - "
"I’ll what?" The accented voice only came a moment before the balding Greek man, Allister Totolos himself, looked suspiciously into Kennedy's cubicle. Third member of their team. Helluva Cursebreaker, but egotist was an understatement.
"Do I get no peace?" Kennedy wondered, dropping her fork into her food in defeat.
Vince grinned knowingly at Toto. "Pack your bags, we have a trip. To Chicago. Redeye, urgent as hell."
Toto pointed a thick finger in the direction of both of the kids, beside himself in vindication. "You two owe me! Ten years of mocking, ten years, who is right?"
Kennedy waved him off. "Keep your pants on, it's just a report, nothing's confirmed!" She'd bet him fifty dollars ten years ago, hell if she was paying him now.
"Just see." Toto's glee was palpable, and he seemed a moment from hopping up and down like an excited child. "Bring your hundred dollars, both of you."
"A hundred? I bet fifty!" Vince protested, indignant. "You swindling - "
"Interest," Toto said with a grin, "and if I am wrong again, I will pay the same."
Vince and Kennedy exchanged a look, and Kennedy gave a confident snort. "You're on, old man."
Toto ignored the dig. "I sensed it from the start - Greek magic is very distinctive - "
" - I'd really like to eat in peace," Kennedy said mildly, fishing her fork from amidst what Chinese remained.
Toto went on, proudly. " - strong, old magic, difficult to break, takes skill - "
"Hey, shut up," Vince said good-naturedly. "Don't you have a cursed broom over there in your cubicle?"
Toto threw his hands into the air. "I don't like this 'Quidditch' trend. Americans think they are better than Europeans but think that they are better than other Americans when they pretend to be Europeans, I will never understand."
"It's some rich kid who fucked up his broom, not a soapbox," Kennedy said thickly, swallowing a mouthful and pulling a piece of lettuce from her teeth in an thoroughly unladylike fashion.
Toto dismissed her with a good-natured wave and left, shouting in annoyance when he saw the broom bucking from down the hallway. Kennedy looked to Vince. "Is double-or-nothing a good idea?"
"We work here," he pointed out, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Who are we to talk about good ideas? See you at the redeye tomorrow."
She saluted him sharply. He returned it. God bless America.
It was muggy in Chicago, and the air sizzled, blurred the view as they walked through the parking lot. They had a nice parking spot in front, seeing as the place was entirely empty of Muggles due to their requested presence. "I don't believe it," Vince said, looking up at the building.
"Believe it," Toto said firmly. "I was alive when it happened, at least - "
"Why would it take them so long to file a report?" Kennedy pointed out.
"I won't believe it."
"A lotta Muggles," Toto pointed out. "They believe in the magic, too."
Vince shook his head and propped open the first available door into Wrigley Field with his foot. "I say the Cubs just suck."
"Yankees fan," Toto grumbled, with a pointed look of disdain.
Vince rolled his eyes. "Who the hell supports the Pirates?"
"It's the Curse of Billy Penn!"
"Oh, come on! That's only on Philadelphia, anyw - "
"Boys, boys, we have a famous curse to find," Kennedy cut in, emphasizing the point. No proof of any Curse here yet. They entered through the service entrance. "Has to be the stadium. They spend enough time here, it could rub off - "
"I say it's the name if anything, a name change, could be that easy," Vince suggested. "I mean Wrigley was the man behind the act - "
" - the field," Toto said firmly. "I know it, I feel it."
"With your mystical Greek magic-sensing powers?" Vince inquired wryly.
Toto stuck his lip out. "Want to put money on that?"
"Fuck no."
"Scared? I can give you a tab. You can pay me later."
Kennedy rolled her eyes and eyed the row of signs on the wall. She gave an exasperated sigh and cut Vince's reply off before he managed a syllable. "I'm going to the locker room."
"Look in the showers, might see someone there," Vince shouted after her as she began to walk. "More action than you've seen in - "
"Shut up and get to work, I wanna get out of this shithole city!" she called back.
"Field," Toto and Vince agreed in muttered unison, exchanged a wary look of alliance, and went to descend into the center of the potentially cursed stadium.
On October 16, 1945, Vasili "Billy" Sianis, a huge Cubs fan and incidentally a wizard, attended Game 4 of the World Series at Wrigley Field. It was the Chicago Cubs against the Detroit Tigers, and the eventual outcome was very clear to the proud Cubs fans. Sianis brought along his goat, Sinovia, who he paraded around the field a little before taking his box seat. And then, someone complained of the smell.
Ignorant Muggle that he was, Philip Knight Wrigley ordered Sianis and Sinovia to be removed from Wrigley Field. Thus began the legend of the Curse of the Billy Goat.
Of course, curses were intense magic tied to a concept or a thing, usually revoking and changing the usual laws of luck and fate. The part most couldn't wrap their minds around was that they tended to be fueled by belief, and not necessarily the belief of the cursed person or thing. A curse could be fueled by the belief of anyone at all. And when a curse became a legend, it was doomed to never wear off.
Vince could joke about sensing magic all he wanted, but sometimes it worked. Kennedy touched the wall, walked along it, and yeah - traces of a pretty strong magic. Lesson learned: keep Greek wizards and their goats happy, or your team will end up sucking. She withdrew her hand and wandered out to the field, where two distant but familiar figures were talking, one crouched.
"Place is definitely cursed," Kennedy greeted them with a grim smile.
"Pay me at the hotel," Toto said from his crouched position, smoothly adding, "I think it's the field."
"This thing was strong enough to creep all the way into the locker room and leak through the walls," Kennedy pointed out. "Could anyone do this alone?"
"You remember the pig farmer," Vince said. "I think it's the box seat. I don't... feel it here."
"Don't remind me, Sasso," Kennedy complained. That had been both disgusting and a pain in the ass - a pig farmer from Kansas had gotten pissed off at a set of seven brothers, neighborhood boys, and his curse had been to make any food they touched turn into what the team could only presume was pig manure. All-encompassing and very powerful revenge. "I'll never look at oatmeal the same way again..."
"Of course Sianis didn't do it alone, the goat helped," Toto said, almost sounding annoyed that they hadn't thought of the goat. Obviously the goat was the clear choice. "You didn't read the file?"
"I read it exhaustively." Kennedy crouched beside the man and ran her fingers through the sand. "You're saying he used the goat." It wasn't totally out there, people had used cats and dogs to spread curses, but she had never heard about a goat.
"Goats are not stupid," Toto said, "Greek ones especially. Do you see full-grown goats on Greek spits? No. Only kids. If you do, they are American goats. Goats are smart. Practically familiars."
Kennedy stifled a snigger at Vince's exasperated expression. "The goat did not cast this curse," he groaned. "Goats can't - "
Toto got to his feet. "We check the pitcher's mound for the source. Put money on it?"
"One out of a million, Toto, your odds aren't perfect." Kennedy stared hard at the pitcher's mound at Toto's suggestion. He was an ass, but he was experienced and worth listening to. "Have you seen a goat use magic?"
Toto gave a short nod, walking to the potential source. "Like kneazles and crups. In some there is magic. Sianis could use the goat herself - "
Vince's gaze contrarily rose to the box, as Toto knelt by the pitcher's mound. "They took it through the stadium, could he have used it to extend the curse through a tr - "
"A trail!" Kennedy cut him off with the same thought, not caring about rudeness because finally it MADE SENSE and was breakable, hopefully, possibly. "Jesus, that would be a powerful trail." She turned to Vince. "When do the hot dog stands open?"
Toto was sniffing the dirt from the pitcher's mound. "He is so weird," Vince muttered to Kennedy, following their superior with his eyes as he rose until he began to walk towards the exit, then ran after him.
"Wait," Kennedy called, running after them. "Damn it!" She was hungry.
"The trail," Toto was saying when she was catching her breath. Kennedy pulled out her wand, breathing out slowly. "On three." The other two readied their wands. "One, two, three." There was a unison flick of their wands, and violent blue squiggles like tacky neon aurora borealis rent the air ahead and behind them. The trail aimed towards their exit line and curled from the box through the path man and goat must have taken.
There was a moment of silence in which Toto's smug expression spoke volumes of gleeful text. "Footprints," Vince said finally. "That is old magic - "
Toto was puffing himself up with pride. "Ah, the power of Greek magic! From the times of Circe and Herpo. Who stinks now?" he quoted Sianis’s gloating to Vince.
Vince gave the old man an expression that very much indicated he wanted to stick his tongue out. "Hey, fuck you, I just showered - "
"We gotta take this thing down, don't we?" Kennedy brought up gloomily. Magic that had lasted over 50 years, a damn masterpiece of vengeance and for the sake of a commercial enterprise, down it would go. God bless capitalism.
"I'm the old man, I stay here at the source," Toto said instantly.
"Age before wisdom. I'll take the box, it's casting point," Vince allowed. He never got to take down source points, but he'd let the stingy bastard get his way this time. Maybe he wouldn't make them pay up.
"Assholes. I guess I'm stuck with ending point. Is there one?" With a curse this powerful, who knew? The thought was less than pleasant; like hell she was following a mile-long trail or something.
"That's your job, not ours," Toto said with a shrug. "Get to work, I want to leave this shithole city." He gave Kennedy a sideways grin. Kennedy glowered with some indignance (she would just bet it was because she was the only woman!) and marched off to follow the trail to its very end.
It took Vince two hours to break the casting point, which was rather like cutting down a stubborn tree with a Swiss Army knife. After making sure that the hot dog stands were in fact not open, he Apparated down to the source. Toto was still at the pitcher's mound, whittling the complexities of the curse down skillfully, patiently.
After about five minutes of Vince just looking on, wand still in hand, Toto gestured impatiently for him to join him. "You want the old man to do this by himself? Where is the respect these days?"
Vince hunkered down and didn't bother restraining his grin, but it didn't last long. The source was halfway done in, and the work finished relatively quickly for such a curse with two of the more skilled Cursebreakers of the USDoM on the case. The lines of the trail curled into smoke as the source was felled, but a curse this old would have a very strong ending point. Unfortunately, without the trail, they now couldn't find Kennedy.
"You look at me with that 'let me get in on this, you old miser' look and I am so charitable, do you never think of helping the woman?" Toto remarked, as Vince pulled out his cell and dialed Kennedy.
She picked up on the third ring. "Where are you?" Vince asked, with no further greeting, making a face at Toto for the previous jeer.
"No one mentioned that Sianis took a leak before he left," her voice came flatly over the line.
He didn't bother to conceal his loud burst of laughter. Toto raised an eyebrow. "Bathroom," Vince managed. "By the exit."
The trio of Cursebreakers stood by the urinal where Vasili "Billy" Sianis had finally lost his concentration enough for the Curse of the Billy Goat to come to an endpoint. The sense of magical tension in the stadium seemed to have dissipated, except for the endpoint, a small circle of the same neon blue glowing on the tile of the men's bathroom floor.
The most experienced of Cursebreakers could feel both curses and the absence of them, and the relief from the near absence of this one was very sweet. Even so, reality was not sweet enough to make them relish this. They were in a fucking men's bathroom at Wrigley Field. "Let's get this over with," Vince suggested.
It took fifteen minutes with all three of them working at it, tops, though any one of them might have had a lot more trouble. The trio shared a weary look once the air settled, but Kennedy was the first to stand up and push away from her spot at the wall. "I am getting outta here." She left, refusing to touch the doorknob with her hands.
Toto shrugged at Vince. "I have to take a leak."
Vince conceded him the privilege with a gesture. He opened the door (not half so squeamish as Phillips) and left Toto at the urinal with some wise parting words: "The Cubs still suck."
Unsurprisingly, later that season, the Cubs did indeed still suck.
Prompt: Something with Cursebreakers.
Title: But the Cubs Still Suck
Word count: 2782
Rating: PG-13, but only because of a few repeated instances of the F-bomb.
Genre: Infodump. Gen.
Note: I cannot apologize enough for this, but the idea wouldn't go away. It is ludicrous. I wrote it, and so I figure I might as well post it. All obnoxious bashes and offensive blanket statements are meant in the most good-natured way possible. Takes place in recent era, late 2004 to nowish.
There were times that being a federally employed Cursebreaker was pretty awesome, Kennedy Phillips had to admit. There was travel! Intrigue! Tourist attractions! Food that gave you acid reflux later! The pay wasn't bad either, mostly because the US Department of Magic had their hands full with the curses in New York City alone (incidentally HQ's location, which no one believed was an accident), nonetheless all the ones across the country. Cursebreakers, especially good ones, could work for almost any price they wanted.
Suffice it to say that Kennedy never had to eat takeout, even though she was eating it now. Her feet were propped up on her desk as she gracefully dug lo mein out of a plastic Chinese takeout container, a case file in her lap. There weren't that many genuine curses out there, honest to God and apple pie curses that couldn't be solved by any old nurse at a magical walk-in clinic. The ones that were genuine tended to be old, nasty, and foreign, and in Kennedy's experience, the casters tended to fit those same three criteria. Not that Kennedy had a problem with foreigners more than she had with anyone else; she had a bias against all people who sucked. The job was great, but both cursers and the cursed tended to get stubborn and bitchy, and generally sucked.
Part of people sucking was their inability to calculate their own luck probability before they came and wasted government time and money. There were enough books on the formulae of luck (the Rasputin Variable and Murphy Quotient). Hell, wizards at the Seattle Arithmancy Institute were putting out a book a year. People sucked. A cat dying was not indicative of a curse. Four in a row, now maybe. It wasn't hard.
"You won't believe this." One of her team members, Vince Sasso, leaned into her cubicle without a damn word of warning. Startled, Kennedy choked on a noodle and flipped him off pre-emptively before he laughed at her coughing (which he did).
"Asshole. What won't I believe?" She gestured him impatiently into her cubicle.
He set down a massive case file. "Live one. This is insane."
Skeptically, she swung her feet down and flipped the folder open. Once her glasses were properly up on her nose, she leaned forward and stared at the name of the person who filed the report. "No," she said, already starting to snigger.
Vince snapped his fingers. "Yes, and fuck me, old Toto was right. Told us all along, d'you think he'll - "
"I’ll what?" The accented voice only came a moment before the balding Greek man, Allister Totolos himself, looked suspiciously into Kennedy's cubicle. Third member of their team. Helluva Cursebreaker, but egotist was an understatement.
"Do I get no peace?" Kennedy wondered, dropping her fork into her food in defeat.
Vince grinned knowingly at Toto. "Pack your bags, we have a trip. To Chicago. Redeye, urgent as hell."
Toto pointed a thick finger in the direction of both of the kids, beside himself in vindication. "You two owe me! Ten years of mocking, ten years, who is right?"
Kennedy waved him off. "Keep your pants on, it's just a report, nothing's confirmed!" She'd bet him fifty dollars ten years ago, hell if she was paying him now.
"Just see." Toto's glee was palpable, and he seemed a moment from hopping up and down like an excited child. "Bring your hundred dollars, both of you."
"A hundred? I bet fifty!" Vince protested, indignant. "You swindling - "
"Interest," Toto said with a grin, "and if I am wrong again, I will pay the same."
Vince and Kennedy exchanged a look, and Kennedy gave a confident snort. "You're on, old man."
Toto ignored the dig. "I sensed it from the start - Greek magic is very distinctive - "
" - I'd really like to eat in peace," Kennedy said mildly, fishing her fork from amidst what Chinese remained.
Toto went on, proudly. " - strong, old magic, difficult to break, takes skill - "
"Hey, shut up," Vince said good-naturedly. "Don't you have a cursed broom over there in your cubicle?"
Toto threw his hands into the air. "I don't like this 'Quidditch' trend. Americans think they are better than Europeans but think that they are better than other Americans when they pretend to be Europeans, I will never understand."
"It's some rich kid who fucked up his broom, not a soapbox," Kennedy said thickly, swallowing a mouthful and pulling a piece of lettuce from her teeth in an thoroughly unladylike fashion.
Toto dismissed her with a good-natured wave and left, shouting in annoyance when he saw the broom bucking from down the hallway. Kennedy looked to Vince. "Is double-or-nothing a good idea?"
"We work here," he pointed out, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Who are we to talk about good ideas? See you at the redeye tomorrow."
She saluted him sharply. He returned it. God bless America.
It was muggy in Chicago, and the air sizzled, blurred the view as they walked through the parking lot. They had a nice parking spot in front, seeing as the place was entirely empty of Muggles due to their requested presence. "I don't believe it," Vince said, looking up at the building.
"Believe it," Toto said firmly. "I was alive when it happened, at least - "
"Why would it take them so long to file a report?" Kennedy pointed out.
"I won't believe it."
"A lotta Muggles," Toto pointed out. "They believe in the magic, too."
Vince shook his head and propped open the first available door into Wrigley Field with his foot. "I say the Cubs just suck."
"Yankees fan," Toto grumbled, with a pointed look of disdain.
Vince rolled his eyes. "Who the hell supports the Pirates?"
"It's the Curse of Billy Penn!"
"Oh, come on! That's only on Philadelphia, anyw - "
"Boys, boys, we have a famous curse to find," Kennedy cut in, emphasizing the point. No proof of any Curse here yet. They entered through the service entrance. "Has to be the stadium. They spend enough time here, it could rub off - "
"I say it's the name if anything, a name change, could be that easy," Vince suggested. "I mean Wrigley was the man behind the act - "
" - the field," Toto said firmly. "I know it, I feel it."
"With your mystical Greek magic-sensing powers?" Vince inquired wryly.
Toto stuck his lip out. "Want to put money on that?"
"Fuck no."
"Scared? I can give you a tab. You can pay me later."
Kennedy rolled her eyes and eyed the row of signs on the wall. She gave an exasperated sigh and cut Vince's reply off before he managed a syllable. "I'm going to the locker room."
"Look in the showers, might see someone there," Vince shouted after her as she began to walk. "More action than you've seen in - "
"Shut up and get to work, I wanna get out of this shithole city!" she called back.
"Field," Toto and Vince agreed in muttered unison, exchanged a wary look of alliance, and went to descend into the center of the potentially cursed stadium.
On October 16, 1945, Vasili "Billy" Sianis, a huge Cubs fan and incidentally a wizard, attended Game 4 of the World Series at Wrigley Field. It was the Chicago Cubs against the Detroit Tigers, and the eventual outcome was very clear to the proud Cubs fans. Sianis brought along his goat, Sinovia, who he paraded around the field a little before taking his box seat. And then, someone complained of the smell.
Ignorant Muggle that he was, Philip Knight Wrigley ordered Sianis and Sinovia to be removed from Wrigley Field. Thus began the legend of the Curse of the Billy Goat.
Of course, curses were intense magic tied to a concept or a thing, usually revoking and changing the usual laws of luck and fate. The part most couldn't wrap their minds around was that they tended to be fueled by belief, and not necessarily the belief of the cursed person or thing. A curse could be fueled by the belief of anyone at all. And when a curse became a legend, it was doomed to never wear off.
Vince could joke about sensing magic all he wanted, but sometimes it worked. Kennedy touched the wall, walked along it, and yeah - traces of a pretty strong magic. Lesson learned: keep Greek wizards and their goats happy, or your team will end up sucking. She withdrew her hand and wandered out to the field, where two distant but familiar figures were talking, one crouched.
"Place is definitely cursed," Kennedy greeted them with a grim smile.
"Pay me at the hotel," Toto said from his crouched position, smoothly adding, "I think it's the field."
"This thing was strong enough to creep all the way into the locker room and leak through the walls," Kennedy pointed out. "Could anyone do this alone?"
"You remember the pig farmer," Vince said. "I think it's the box seat. I don't... feel it here."
"Don't remind me, Sasso," Kennedy complained. That had been both disgusting and a pain in the ass - a pig farmer from Kansas had gotten pissed off at a set of seven brothers, neighborhood boys, and his curse had been to make any food they touched turn into what the team could only presume was pig manure. All-encompassing and very powerful revenge. "I'll never look at oatmeal the same way again..."
"Of course Sianis didn't do it alone, the goat helped," Toto said, almost sounding annoyed that they hadn't thought of the goat. Obviously the goat was the clear choice. "You didn't read the file?"
"I read it exhaustively." Kennedy crouched beside the man and ran her fingers through the sand. "You're saying he used the goat." It wasn't totally out there, people had used cats and dogs to spread curses, but she had never heard about a goat.
"Goats are not stupid," Toto said, "Greek ones especially. Do you see full-grown goats on Greek spits? No. Only kids. If you do, they are American goats. Goats are smart. Practically familiars."
Kennedy stifled a snigger at Vince's exasperated expression. "The goat did not cast this curse," he groaned. "Goats can't - "
Toto got to his feet. "We check the pitcher's mound for the source. Put money on it?"
"One out of a million, Toto, your odds aren't perfect." Kennedy stared hard at the pitcher's mound at Toto's suggestion. He was an ass, but he was experienced and worth listening to. "Have you seen a goat use magic?"
Toto gave a short nod, walking to the potential source. "Like kneazles and crups. In some there is magic. Sianis could use the goat herself - "
Vince's gaze contrarily rose to the box, as Toto knelt by the pitcher's mound. "They took it through the stadium, could he have used it to extend the curse through a tr - "
"A trail!" Kennedy cut him off with the same thought, not caring about rudeness because finally it MADE SENSE and was breakable, hopefully, possibly. "Jesus, that would be a powerful trail." She turned to Vince. "When do the hot dog stands open?"
Toto was sniffing the dirt from the pitcher's mound. "He is so weird," Vince muttered to Kennedy, following their superior with his eyes as he rose until he began to walk towards the exit, then ran after him.
"Wait," Kennedy called, running after them. "Damn it!" She was hungry.
"The trail," Toto was saying when she was catching her breath. Kennedy pulled out her wand, breathing out slowly. "On three." The other two readied their wands. "One, two, three." There was a unison flick of their wands, and violent blue squiggles like tacky neon aurora borealis rent the air ahead and behind them. The trail aimed towards their exit line and curled from the box through the path man and goat must have taken.
There was a moment of silence in which Toto's smug expression spoke volumes of gleeful text. "Footprints," Vince said finally. "That is old magic - "
Toto was puffing himself up with pride. "Ah, the power of Greek magic! From the times of Circe and Herpo. Who stinks now?" he quoted Sianis’s gloating to Vince.
Vince gave the old man an expression that very much indicated he wanted to stick his tongue out. "Hey, fuck you, I just showered - "
"We gotta take this thing down, don't we?" Kennedy brought up gloomily. Magic that had lasted over 50 years, a damn masterpiece of vengeance and for the sake of a commercial enterprise, down it would go. God bless capitalism.
"I'm the old man, I stay here at the source," Toto said instantly.
"Age before wisdom. I'll take the box, it's casting point," Vince allowed. He never got to take down source points, but he'd let the stingy bastard get his way this time. Maybe he wouldn't make them pay up.
"Assholes. I guess I'm stuck with ending point. Is there one?" With a curse this powerful, who knew? The thought was less than pleasant; like hell she was following a mile-long trail or something.
"That's your job, not ours," Toto said with a shrug. "Get to work, I want to leave this shithole city." He gave Kennedy a sideways grin. Kennedy glowered with some indignance (she would just bet it was because she was the only woman!) and marched off to follow the trail to its very end.
It took Vince two hours to break the casting point, which was rather like cutting down a stubborn tree with a Swiss Army knife. After making sure that the hot dog stands were in fact not open, he Apparated down to the source. Toto was still at the pitcher's mound, whittling the complexities of the curse down skillfully, patiently.
After about five minutes of Vince just looking on, wand still in hand, Toto gestured impatiently for him to join him. "You want the old man to do this by himself? Where is the respect these days?"
Vince hunkered down and didn't bother restraining his grin, but it didn't last long. The source was halfway done in, and the work finished relatively quickly for such a curse with two of the more skilled Cursebreakers of the USDoM on the case. The lines of the trail curled into smoke as the source was felled, but a curse this old would have a very strong ending point. Unfortunately, without the trail, they now couldn't find Kennedy.
"You look at me with that 'let me get in on this, you old miser' look and I am so charitable, do you never think of helping the woman?" Toto remarked, as Vince pulled out his cell and dialed Kennedy.
She picked up on the third ring. "Where are you?" Vince asked, with no further greeting, making a face at Toto for the previous jeer.
"No one mentioned that Sianis took a leak before he left," her voice came flatly over the line.
He didn't bother to conceal his loud burst of laughter. Toto raised an eyebrow. "Bathroom," Vince managed. "By the exit."
The trio of Cursebreakers stood by the urinal where Vasili "Billy" Sianis had finally lost his concentration enough for the Curse of the Billy Goat to come to an endpoint. The sense of magical tension in the stadium seemed to have dissipated, except for the endpoint, a small circle of the same neon blue glowing on the tile of the men's bathroom floor.
The most experienced of Cursebreakers could feel both curses and the absence of them, and the relief from the near absence of this one was very sweet. Even so, reality was not sweet enough to make them relish this. They were in a fucking men's bathroom at Wrigley Field. "Let's get this over with," Vince suggested.
It took fifteen minutes with all three of them working at it, tops, though any one of them might have had a lot more trouble. The trio shared a weary look once the air settled, but Kennedy was the first to stand up and push away from her spot at the wall. "I am getting outta here." She left, refusing to touch the doorknob with her hands.
Toto shrugged at Vince. "I have to take a leak."
Vince conceded him the privilege with a gesture. He opened the door (not half so squeamish as Phillips) and left Toto at the urinal with some wise parting words: "The Cubs still suck."
Unsurprisingly, later that season, the Cubs did indeed still suck.