Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => London => Muggle London => Topic started by: Waverly Roh-Ballentyne on June 21, 2019, 12:22:54 PM
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3 January 2012
3pm, Tuesday
The Blackwood Cafe
Sasha Schlagenweit. No, Snow. Sasha Snow. He had a new name now. New name, new life. There was something soft about it. Maybe it was just all the sibilance, or could be the wizard's smooth and shady mysterious facade. For all the stories about him, no one would ever know by looking that oh, that's Sasha Schlagenweit. That's Sasha Snow. She also wouldn't have guessed to be setting him up with, well, with what she had bundled in a hidden pocket of her purse. Just went to show, anyone could be anyone.
Waverly Roh-Ballentyne hadn't actually laid eyes on Sasha since they all finished school; they hadn't exactly been pals. She'd mostly been sticking with Gabby Dagon and some new people, mostly. New people who were helping her get connected. Word got around in a tidy fashion and a note or two back and forth and, well, here they were. Little reunion. Or something.
The table-for-two she'd chosen was situated so she wouldn't have to look up to see who was coming and going. She'd ordered tea, and had the latest Witch Weekly open to a spread about a squib who ran a semi-mago fashion line. He reminded Waverly of a cat, warm and dark. Wav couldn't wait to get her hands on one of his coats. For how, her dark purple trench would do. She didn't appear to be paying and significant attention to either tea or magazine when, yes, there he was. Sasha Snow, both of them out of uniform and out of context.
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Coat collar (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/cf/0a/b7/cf0ab7300aea7ac094f728d1500263ba.jpg) turned up against the rain, Sasha stepped through the coffee shop's door and quickly glanced over the scattered bunch of patrons until he spotted the young woman sitting alone. After checking for a coat rack by the door (and not finding one), he shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over his arm, folded inward to avoid dripping.
Sasha paused briefly at the counter to order a cappuccino and a couple of biscotti, enough to share if Waverly were so inclined. Order in hand, he took a seat across the small table from the former Slytherin and set the plate of biscotti in the middle of the table.
With all the obvious tasks completed, Sasha was left with the awkward lingering question of what social protocols this encounter dictated. They weren't old schoolmates catching up on old times and new news which suggested gaiety and light-hearted banter. They weren't strangers, so the usual introductory script didn't apply. Unfortunately, his childhood etiquette lessons didn't exactly cover things like casually crossing paths to establish legally ambiguous business deals, though Sasha had no doubts Gerhard Schlagenweit had engaged in more than a few during his tenure as an investment banker.
Even the obvious, casual questions like how did NEWTs go and what adult activities have you been doing seemed out of place; the nature of their meeting gave some indication to the answer. And, how likely the question would be welcomed.
In short, Sasha was at a complete loss and was half-tempted to text Abby to ask what one should say in this sort of situation. But, pulling out one's phone after sitting down violated every social rule, regardless of the situation. So.
He improvised. "He looks very serious," he offered, nodding to the somewhat ferret-y looking fellow in the paper in front of Waverly. "But, vaguely familiar. I can't decide if I should know him."
Smooth, Schlawkward. Very smooth.
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Good Morgana and Her Crows, there was no one more Sasha than Sasha. Waverly didn't stop herself from a catlike smile and shrugged forward with the elbows on the table. She let him speak first, curious to how he'd handle himself.
"He's a designer," she supplied. "Bruno Mwangi."
She leaned to the side just a touch to get another eye of Sasha's outfit. "He'd suit you, if you fancied being a bit more daring. I know you've got the gold."
And that he was not shy about spending it.
"So."
She let the segue hang and sipped her coffee.
"Have a nice New Year's Eve?"
If she wanted to have a regular in Sasha Snow, it'd help to know more about his current circle and their tastes. She knew Virgil and Bevans lived in a gillyweed cloud, but she had a hard time believing those two snarky lads were good company for gentle Sasha. Gabby'd reported they'd all been at that party, but no good details.
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Sasha's gaze darted between the upside-down designer and the former classmate who leaned over the spread as he tried to guess whether her suggestion to get a coat was earnest or a joke.
Ignoring the comment about money in lieu of what seemed like a more legitimate concern, he shook his head. "I ... wouldn't have a clue how to go about shopping for something like that," he admitted with a placating shrug. "I'd probably end up picking something blindly, thinking it was cool, only to find it made me look like a randy peacock the first time I wore it."
He didn't mind daring - he spent his free time barreling over ditches at top speeds from the back of a 1500 pound animal - he just didn't know how to do it, properly.
"So. Have a nice New Year's Eve?"
Apparently, establishing legally ambiguous business deals involved small talk. Who would have guessed?
"Well, I brought my muggle friend to a party in Diagon Alley, but it turned out he and Virgil are shagging. Surprisingly, that wasn't the craziest part of the night." Though, it was all a vast improvement over January, so he didn't really have cause to complain. "I suppose it was a good break from the normal, daily grind but I'm ready to get back to the usual routine. What about you?" he countered, assuming this was little more than casual, catching up chit chat.
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"You'd be fine," she said flatly. Shopping was a bizarre thing to be self-deprecating about. Show up, try on, go with your gut, pay, bugger off. Congratulations on your new frock.
But wait, a muggle amongst that lot, now? And hooking up with Virgil, to boot. Waverly didn't hide her amusement
"Wicked." Wav partied with muggles galore but had never gone home with any of them, let alone take them back to her place. Her mothers' place. Between a werewolf hunter and an Auror there wasn't likely to be a cheery breakfast waiting for a guest.
"No routine is good routine," she said, deliberately not forthcoming about her personals. "Always love a party."
She sipped her coffee again then got into her bag. She found her wand in there first, muttered a spell from inside the bag which revealed a zipper. From there, she pulled out a dog-eared hardback book. The Count of Monte Cristo. It was one of the biggest books she could find at the used bookstore by the Leaky Cauldron.
"Sorry it took me so long," she said and set it on the table between them and gave it a pat.
"There's that whole bit in the middle, you know. Put me right to sleep."
Inside the book, of course, were the very particular and very expensive cultivars of gillyweed that Sasha had knew well enough to request. Waverly was actually a little nervous. She'd had to put up a good amount of her own money to get the stuff here. She knew Sasha would come through, of course - it was Sasha. But it was still a risk. She really wanted this all to work. She cracked a smile, wider than she wanted.
"It ended up at forty-five."
Forty-five galleons.
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"No routine is good routine."
"I discovered that over the summer," Sasha admitted, a grin flickering across his face as he sipped espresso. "I had to cut that short before I got hooked; been in schedule rehab ever sense."
One could say Sasha had a fair number of talents: studying, riding, sketching, overly thinking the simplest of ideas. Humor was definitely not one of them.
Sasha set the cup back down and tried to avoid grimacing too much when the young woman presented the horribly treated Alexandre Dumas novel. Sure, the volume was a means to an end, but it was still tragic to see the pages tattered and misused.
"Just the bit in the middle?" he countered, with a grin. "If this put you to sleep, might I advise you avoid the Russians. I love a good Dostoevsky, but he is the best antidote to a case of insomnia." Maybe Sasha should consider trying it. Maybe that's the great remedy he'd been looking for.
Sasha pulled the small pouch that jangled slightly from fifty golden coins and set it on the table next to her cup of coffee. "Forty-five for the tickets, a little extra for the trouble. It certainly saves me the trouble of getting down there and fetching them, myself. Long distance travel is a bit of a hassle during term."
"Hopefully, it wasn't too much trouble."