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[ifoundthem]

[Newt's communicator has no message; it just beeps. Chances of him actually getting a message are slim, given he doesn't know the network exists, yet.

But if you really want to talk to him, feel free to track him down here.]

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[ifoundthem]

Newt opens the door promptly, looking about as mussed as usual, bowtie crooked and half undone.

"Ah- come in." He opens the door wider, ushering Ray into a quaint '20s New York apartment that looks barely used and decidedly feminine.

[poetontheinside]

It... shows. He blinks a little as he steps in, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. There's a lot of things that make him feel like this isn't really Newt's apartment, but what the hell does he know about 1920's magizoologists?

"Thanks, man," he mutters, a little unsure of what to do now that he's here.

[ifoundthem]

"You can, ah, sit?" Newt gestures at one of the armchairs. "And I'll try to explain what I can."

If this is the way he has to help Credence now... he knows it might make him even less popular with the boy, but it's better than doing nothing.

[poetontheinside]

"I'm not here to fuck him over," he says, perhaps a little apropros. He does sit, and looks over at Newt.

"I like him, he's a good kid, and if havin' that bird here makes him happy, what the fuck do I care? There's just-- I don't know from magic or magic animals or nothing."

He's so fucking out of his depth that he isn't even thinking about the fact that admitting all of this might be somehow embarrassing.

[ifoundthem]

Newt isn't going to judge the man for being a Muggle. He can't help it.

"I'll gladly be on call for assistance if the bird in question is different than it seems." It's the least he can do. "But as I said, a Phoenix isn't a danger. It's- it's what's around the whole situation."

He sits, stiffly in the opposite chair, a green leafy creature scrambling from under his collar to duck under his lapel.

[poetontheinside]

He blinks, unsure if he actually saw that or if he's just tired. He does fish a pair of clunky glasses out of his jacket pocket and puts them on.

"I can't tell you everything. I want him to trust me, so I can't-- you know. But if you tell me what you wanna tell me, maybe I'll know more."

[ifoundthem]

Newt nods and leans forward. "What do the names Graves and Grindelwald mean to you?"

[poetontheinside]

"Graves is the guy, the guy who fucked him over--"

He has to think back. Some parts of the file weren't completely clear, and he'd made notes when he'd first read it, trying to connect the dots like he usually does, working a case.

"But he wasn't Graves. Not really. Right?"

[ifoundthem]

"There was a man, once, named Percival Graves. But by the time I knew him, he'd been... replaced. Grindelwald had taken his face and quite possibly his life. He was... using Credence to find an Obscurial. Wanted it to be his weapon." There's quiet anger in his voice, a bitter edge that doesn't fit well with his usual gentle and dreamy temperament.

"He threw Credence away when he thought he wasn't needed anymore. And now, it seems, he has him back."

[poetontheinside]

"What did Credence tell you about him? About-- this time, and the last time?"

He doesn't want to slip up and tell Newt something he shouldn't be talking about.

[ifoundthem]

"He thinks Grindelwald can help him - is the only one who can. The rest- his crimes speak for themselves. And what he said to me himself."

[poetontheinside]

"But he knows what the guy did, right? How-- how bad he is."

[ifoundthem]

Newt hesitates. "He's- Credence didn't grow up in our society. He didn't see the war. Hasn't been exposed to the politics. And Grindelwald-" Newt runs his hand through his hair. "I can't... can't speak for him. But he's very good at convincing others that everything he does is for the greater good. For their greater good."

And - he knows but doesn't say - Credence has been surrounded by radicalism his whole life. Of course he'd be more vulnerable; he doesn't know what's normal.

[poetontheinside]

"I think you're right about that," he's willing to admit. "That he mighta been convinced about something or other. But I dunno what's real and what ain't."