Wicked Ink tattoo parlor, 1:45 PM

As the door closed behind his most recent client, Domnall added the payment of a few galleons to the cash box. That done, he returned to his equipment, deftly disassembling the machine into its parts and cleaning each with antibacterial soap and water. After pulling on a pair of gloves, he put each part into a glass of germicide, letting them soak for a few minutes before carefully removing each one, drying them, and setting them on their shelf. Done sterilizing his equipment, he pulled the gloves off and wiped his hands on his jeans with an air of finality.

He exited the small back room where the actual tattooing happened, checking the front for any waiting customers. As the waiting area was temporarily empty, he decided it was a good time for a lunch break. With a wave of his wand, the sign on the door changed from "Open" to "Back in fifteen," and he headed up the stairs to his flat to see what food he had. He was making himself a sandwich as a bell chimed, alerting him to someone's arrival.

Heading back downstairs, he grumbled, "Sign says we're closed for the mo', can't ye read?"

Business was booming for Atticus these days and it had certainly put a spark in his step. He strolled down the familiar alleys of Knockturn twirling his wand between the fingers of his left hand as his right held onto a reasonable sack of gold in his coat pocket. One of his best contacts, Domnall  ó Mordha had pointed him in the right direction for one of his deals and it turned out to be quite lucrative. Atticus firmly believed in loyalty and taking care of the people who took care of him, so consequently he was headed to Dom's tattoo parlor to give him a cut of the job's profits.

After a few minutes of walking through winding alleyways, he arrived at his destination. He glanced at the door and saw a "back in fifteen" sign and chuckled to himself. That sign hadn't stopped Atticus from dropping in unannounced before, and it wouldn't this time - especially when he had a sack of gold in hand.

He pressed the bell as he smiled and took a step back to wait. After a moment he heard a familiar voice ring out.

"Sign says we're closed for the mo', can't ye read?"

"Ah no, sorry my friend. I never learned to read. I consider it a major gap in my education, actually." He jested as he patted his coat pocket and winked at Dom through the door. "I come bearing gifts."

"I never learned to read. I consider it a major gap in my education, actually... I come bearing gifts."

Domnall ceased his grumbling when he heard the voice of Atticus Roark. He smiled at his friend, opening the door with a snort of laughter. "Tha's what ye get for not finishin' school, boy," he teased, ushering the younger man inside. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued at the clank of metal when Atticus patted his pocket. "Gifts, hm? I don't recall it being my birthday, but if you insist..." he trailed off with a grin.

"Sit down, make yerself at home. If ye don't mind, I'm just gonna dash back upstairs and finish making lunch," he said, already starting back to the stairs as he spoke. He didn't mind leaving Atticus unattended in the shop - the lad knew better than to go poking at any of the equipment, and Dom trusted him not to swipe anything from the cashbox while his back was turned.

A minute later he returned, sandwich in hand and blind mastiff in tow, and plopped down into one of the chairs in the waiting area. "So, Atticus," he began, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Tha's what ye get for not finishin' school, boy,"

Atticus smirked as he walked into the parlor and gave Dom a hug. "Another casualty of an unfair school and justice system." He stated in mock austerity as he stretched and yawned. The nature of his career choice led him to being awake at odd hours of the night quite frequently. Being the insomniac he was Atticus wasn't bothered too much by it, but on some days it took its toll.

"Gifts, hm? I don't recall it being my birthday, but if you insist..."

"I like to give my friends gifts from the to time, especially when they've done right by me." He said simply as he took a seat and leaned back. Dom informed him he wanted to finish making lunch so Atticus nodded his approval and put his hands in his pockets. He played with a galleon in his hands for a moment as he became lost in thought. A moment later Dom returned with his trusty hound and a sandwich. Atticus couldn't help but laugh at the picture. He pulled the sack of gold out of his pocket and tossed it at Dom.

"The connection you helped me make worked out very nicely. One of my best jobs yet actually," Atticus remarked, stroking his chin as he did. "And it most certainly would not have happened without you. The way I see it, you deserve a sizable cut wouldn't you say?" He said as he held his hands up on either side of him like scales. "I look forward to doing more business in the future, brother. The parlor's become quite a hub for the neighborhood, wouldn't you say? It's good to see people getting together. I think it gives people hope."

The heels of designer calfskin boots scuffed the cobblestone of Knockturn's twisting, winding alleyways as Saanvi made her way down the street. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of the knee-length woolen overcoat that she had burrowed into before she left her flat, for it was both overcast and chilly. The slight wind tearing down the street would have threatened to tousle her dark locks, had she not done them up in a simple three-strand braid to avoid any such inconvenience. Her dark brown doe eyes scrutinized the various strangers that wandered up and down the street, and though she offered every soul she passed a warm, lovely smile—which most of them returned—she judged them.

Many were dirty, others were clearly paupers, the shiftless sort that you wouldn't catch in Diagon Alley. The truth was that Saanvi looked down on many of her neighbors; she had only acquired a flat in Knockturn Alley so that she could keep her fingers to the pulse of illicit activity in London, and stay one step ahead of the competition by utilizing her extensive network of contacts, a good portion of which also lived here.

If it were more convenient, she'd have chosen to live in Kensington, or Chelsea... or perhaps Notting Hill. Somewhere expensive and occupied by the rich and powerful—her clientele base, in other words. The slums would do, though, for her flat was both luxurious and lavishly decorated, so that when she returned home from a long day of beating the streets looking for leads, or from a few weeks or a month overseas pursuing her typical quarry, she could relax in opulence.

She marched stolidly now towards Wicked Ink, a tattoo parlor only a few blocks over from her tenements where an infrequent connection and a part-time lover of Saanvi's did business. A broad, swarthy man, Domnhall was easy on the eyes and gave off the suggestion that he was a bad boy, what with his long, dark hair, stereotypically evil facial scruff, and abundance of eyeliner. Saanvi knew that he was rather a gentler man than he presented himself, but the aesthetic was what mattered, at the end of the day... and the fact that he knew how to use the equipment he was gifted at birth.

Saanvi rounded the corner of the street that Wicked Ink was situated upon and proceeded towards the front door. She spared the reversed sign hanging in the glass panel nary a second thought and pushed the door open with a gentle chime from the bell above it, stepping into the parlor, her boots clacking noisily on the hardwood floor.

Perceptive eyes scanned the room, appraising Dom and his guest. A wry smile twisted the corners of her lips, and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

"Good afternoon, Dom," she greeted in her vaguely posh, cinema-esque tone. "Who's your handsome young friend?"

Domnall caught the pouch Atticus tossed him with the hand that wasn't holding his lunch. He rested it on the arm of his chair, absentmindedly patting Seamus on the head as Atticus spoke.

"The way I see it, you deserve a sizable cut, wouldn't you say?"

Dom smiled. "Well, when ye put it like that, I suppose you're right. I'm certainly not complaining." Atticus was a rare breed in that respect; most people would be looking for any excuse to keep more money in their own pockets. But here was this boy (because he was a boy, really, he would still be at Hogwarts if he hadn't gotten kicked out) going out of his way to offer money to someone who hadn't even asked.

"The parlor's become quite a hub for the neighborhood, wouldn't you say?"

Domnall nodded. "I do what I can, since the Chimaera closed. People need a way to stay connected, ye know? Basic instinct. Cináed always wanted Knockturn to feel like one big family, almost." His expression turned wistful, almost, as he remembered the camaraderie that always seemed to fill the old pub - games of wizard's chess across the bar, laughter and good-natured grumbling between folks who felt as much like kin as his own parents.

His thoughts returned to the present day when the door opened again. He got to his feet, ready to turn away whoever it was, but didn't get the chance. Instead, he nodded in greeting, half-smiling.

"Saanvi," he said, gesturing for her to sit, "A pleasant surprise. This lad is Atticus, information broker extraordinaire. Atticus, this is Saanvi Revankar." Returning to his seat, he asked, "What brings you by today? Business or pleasure?"

"Well, when ye put it like that, I suppose you're right. I'm certainly not complaining."

Atticus grinned as Dom took the gold and thanked him for it. "Good man, good man." He said in agreement as he looked around and surveyed the parlor. He had been considering getting a tattoo for quite some time and had decided at the very least he would get it done by Dom over anyone else. He always had a few ideas floating around his head but one that kept coming back was "Knockturn".

"I do what I can, since the Chimaera closed. People need a way to stay connected, ye know? Basic instinct. Cináed always wanted Knockturn to feel like one big family, almost."

"That's how I feel about it. Cináed's got the right idea. We've got to look out for each other in Knockturn. The weather will always change but solidarity in the neighborhood will keep us together and intact." Atticus said after a moment of thought. "Or maybe that's a romanticized view on the matter. I can't say I'm free of bias." He added, shrugging as he heard the door open. His instinct was to reach for his wand, but when he looked up he softened his reaction a little bit. A woman dressed a little nicely for the neighborhood strode into the parlor like she had been there before. Atticus glanced over to Dom to gauge a reaction and he didn't seem surprised or disconcerted. The two exchanged hellos and after a moment, Dom introduced Atticus to her.

"A pleasant surprise. This lad is Atticus, information broker extraordinaire. Atticus, this is Saanvi Revankar."

Atticus raised his eyebrows and nodded to her, saying "It's a pleasure." in a mock cordial manner as he raised an invisible glass to the air. He thought about the name for a moment but nothing in particular came up. Nonetheless, it sounded familiar to him. He was curious what she did for a living and how she knew Dom - all questions that were likely to be answered in the minutes followed.

"Charmed," Saanvi replied, inclining her head and smiling mischievously at Atticus. If anything about his tone indicated faux-cordiality to Saavi, she made no note of it, brushing across the room smoothly.

She took a seat nearer to Domnhall than his guest, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back slightly with impeccable poise, both hands folded in her lap. She examined Dom with shrewd eyes, the hint of a smirk upon her lips.

"Were I here for pleasure, sweetie, I'd likely have come by just as you were closing up for the day," she answered, turning her gaze upon Atticus for just a moment. Saanvi seemed to consider the boy for just a moment before reaching a conclusion about something, and then returned her eyes to her friend.

"Not that seeing you isn't always a pleasure, dear... no, I was wondering if you'd heard whispers of any jobs that might concern me—the way that you do," Saanvi murmured sweetly, smiling with her teeth endearingly. "I've been back in the country for nearly a month now and I've yet to line up another job. I don't want for money, of course, but I am growing rather restless. Stir-crazy, if you will."

"Were I here for pleasure, sweetie, I'd likely have come by just as you were closing up for the day."

Domnall chuckled softly. "Aye, unless ye were just here for a quick tumble," he smirked. "But I suppose this time the pleasure's all mine, dear." They talked like sweethearts, he thought, which amused him because Saanvi didn't do sweethearts. He wasn't opposed to them, but the casual thing he had going with Saanvi was more than enough for him right now.

"I was wondering if you'd heard whispers of any jobs that might concern me..."

Dom shrugged. "I might be able to think of a few," he said, "but ye might want to ask Atticus here." Leaning forward in his seat to look at the younger man, he explained, "Atticus, Saanvi is..." A thief? That was what she did, but she did it in such a way that to call it thievery was a discredit. "She redistributes expensive magical goods. Ye know of any folk who could use her talents?"

Atticus rolled his eyes and smirked the two in front of him began to engage in sweet talk. He took a look at Saanvi and gave her a quick assessment and then gave Dom the slightest nod and wink of approval as the conversation moved forward.

His ears perked up when he heard the woman ask Dom about any jobs. Considering who she was talking to and the neighborhood she was in, Atticus gathered that this must involve some form of illicit activity. He again searched his mind toward where he had heard of or seen Saanvi before, but again came up with nothing. She was attractive and arguably seductive, perhaps she was also an information broker or maybe a thief? He leaned forward, interested.

"She redistributes expensive magical goods. Ye know of any folk who could use her talents?"

"Redistributed expensive magical goods, eh?" He said with a bit of a laugh. "Sounds like a glorified description of a thief - or a Ministry employee." He added with feigned shock. "Good god woman, you're not a tax collector are you?"

A curious shadow passed over Saanvi's countenance at the suggestion that she was a 'glorified thief,' or a government employee—but it was a brief thing, difficult to notice even for the highly perceptive. She flashed another smile at Atticus, all straight white teeth, and bowed her head very slightly.

"I suppose if I was, tax season wouldn't be nearly as awful, would it?"

Saanvi uncrossed her legs and then crossed them once again, now in the opposite direction.

"At any rate... to suggest that what I do is akin to common thievery, darling, would be rather an overestimation of your common thief. Besides, the items that I procure don't always belong to somebody, despite what the museums and Gringott's curse-breakers would have you believe... and when they do, well—a fool and his money will soon be parted, as the saying goes. Stupid people don't deserve good things."

She leaned back, giving Dom a meaningful look before turning her gaze back upon Atticus.

"But you're a broker, are you, dear?"

Saanvi placed her hand upon Dom's upper arm, squeezing gently and grinning giddily, as though the trio were sharing some private joke.

"I can't imagine Dom would recommend you if you weren't good at what you do, but... you're so young. Are you even out of school, sweetie? I know men twice your age that don't have enough of a network to work as brokers. In point of fact, every broker I've ever met was pushing sixty; I expect retiring from a life of crime isn't entirely glamorous. The majority of criminals are never taught how to manage their finances, so it isn't a terrible stretch to assume that they start dealing in information to stay afloat until they expire.

"So I must ask—why would a handsome boy like yourself pursue such a career?"

Domnall smirked at Atticus's wink, laughing to himself. His eyebrows shot up at the phrase "glorified thief" - while that may have been accurate, he doubted Saanvi would take kindly to it. If she had any objections, though, she kept them to herself, instead choosing to go along with the Ministry joke.

He rested his hand on Saanvi's knee as she squeezed his arm, trying not to laugh at the condescension in her voice. As she said, he wouldn't recommend someone who wasn't good at what they did, so her doubt was probably just for show, but he understood where she was coming from - Atticus may have been of age, but he was still much younger than most people in his line of work.

He stayed quiet, for the moment, letting Atticus speak for himself rather than jumping to his friend's defense. Instead of speaking, he tilted his head to the side, listening to the boy's answer.

"I suppose if I was, tax season wouldn't be nearly as awful, would it?"

"I suppose that depends on whether or not you know the extent of my tax evasion." He said seriously as he tapped his finger on his head. "That being said, I'm sure the subsequent inquiry and arrest would be considerably more pleasant." He added with a wink. Truth be told, Atticus was not particularly charmed by this woman but he didn't find her unpleasant either. An occupational hazard of his was to treat anyone he met as a potential client or contact, the consequence of being more generally detached towards the fairer sex.

"At any rate... to suggest that what I do is akin to common thievery, darling, would be rather an overestimation of your common thief. Besides, the items that I procure don't always belong to somebody, despite what the museums and Gringott's curse-breakers would have you believe... and when they do, well—a fool and his money will soon be parted, as the saying goes. Stupid people don't deserve good things."

He leaned back in his chair once again and rested his foot on his knee. He nodded in agreement to the last sentiment and found himself generally amused by the whole thing. "So you're a good finder." He concluded aloud after she finished. "A Hufflepuff, perhaps? That being said, I imagine there's quite a bit of curse-breaking in your line of work. Ravenclaw?" He asked playfully.

After a moment Saanvi moved onto the topic of his profession. Atticus rolled his eyes and gave the slightest sneer when she pointed out the disparity between his age and the age of your average information broker. People had pointed this out to him in the past and it had been no less irritating then. He waited a moment before speaking.

"Yes, you are correct when you say that many people in my line of work are washed up criminals. I would even say the vast majority are." He began slowly, tipping his head towards her as a sign of agreement. "However, I did not go into this line of work for the same reasons they did. I began at Hogwarts in my early days, working with Dom here" He said, gesturing towards his friend. "I was later expelled - I'm eighteen by the way, I am not a child - and was left with the search for what to do with my life. I concluded that this was the best option. I had ran a successful smuggling ring in and out of the school. I had also been practicing legillimens and occlumens for several years and was quite proficient. I already had a few contacts and a talent with people and, perhaps most crucially, I do not look the part." He said, with heavy emphasis on the final sentence.

Atticus leaned forward and pulled a flask out of his coat pocket. He took a quick swig then let it rest on his knee. "I'm able to work with people coming from any walk of life. I'm the guy you don't expect. When you combine all of these talents you come up with a very able and capable information broker." He concluded dramatically.

"School was a long time ago," Saanvi mused as Atticus took stabs at her house, "but yes—I was sorted into Ravenclaw."

Glancing at Domnhall and flashing him a playful smile, she added: "It was that or Slytherin, and I found many of the occupants of Slytherin house during my tenure... unpleasant, present company notwithstanding. So I told the hat to put me in Ravenclaw, and it obliged."

Saanvi listened as Atticus delivered his spiel, looking considerably more amused with each passing moment. She seemed to have no desire to mock Atticus—or, if she did, she refrained from doing so, anyway—but her eyebrows slowly lifted to their apex as he went on.

"You've no need to vindicate yourself to me with your life story, sweetie—though, tsk, tsk... expulsion?"

She peered down at Domnhall's hand for just a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

"Then again, we've all made our share of mistakes, haven't we? At any rate, I concede that your boyish good looks set you apart from the general rabble that Dom here keeps company with..."

She squeezed Domnhall's hand, perhaps to signify that she was only joking.

"... and I'm rather impressed that you're capable of legilimency and occlumency at your age—it gives us some common ground, in fact. However, if we're going to discuss the efficacy of your skills as a networker, I would say that actions speak louder than words, wouldn't you agree? If you're as resourceful as you suggest, I can't imagine it'll be difficult to find me work. There aren't a lot of people that do what I do outside of the law, and I believe my name carries some weight among those that matter."

"Ah yes, a noble Ravenclaw. I thought so. I too was a Ravenclaw - which is why, despite my expulsion I am able to get along just fine. Diligent student, I was." He said as he reminisced back to long hours at the library, studying away at an array of subjects. Up until his last year at Hogwarts, his marks were stellar. He had near perfect marks on his O.W.L.S. as well. It was a bit ironic that he chose his current profession given that, but what else was he to do without being 'fully qualified'?

"You've no need to vindicate yourself to me with your life story, sweetie—though, tsk, tsk... expulsion?"

Atticus frowned slightly at being called 'sweetie'. This woman, while older than him, was not so old that it was appropriate to condescend to him in such a manner - not that be appreciated being patronized by anyone. "Yes, expulsion. It looks like I burned a little too bright at the ol' alma mater. No matter though, it led me to where I am today and this very conversation." He said succinctly, nodding at her.

"Then again, we've all made our share of mistakes, haven't we? At any rate, I concede that your boyish good looks set you apart from the general rabble that Dom here keeps company with..."

Atticus raised an eyebrow curiously. "Is it only my boyish good lucks that set me apart?" He asked as he cocked his head to the side. "Well, that's a shame. I like to think of myself as more than a pretty face, but I suppose that's the fate we suffer, we who are easy on the eyes - no?" He proposed slyly. "At any rate, you aren't the first to underestimate me nor will you be the last."

"... and I'm rather impressed that you're capable of legilimency and occlumency at your age—it gives us some common ground, in fact. However, if we're going to discuss the efficacy of your skills as a networker, I would say that actions speak louder than words, wouldn't you agree? If you're as resourceful as you suggest, I can't imagine it'll be difficult to find me work. There aren't a lot of people that do what I do outside of the law, and I believe my name carries some weight among those that matter."

Atticus chuckled quietly. "Ah, so you are well practiced too? There's so much utility to be offered by legilimency and occlumency. I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn. The Ravenclaw in me." He said again as he tapped his head. "I am indeed resourceful and would more than likely have no trouble finding you a job or two. However, as I sit here and look at you I can't help but beg the question: What makes you qualified? What great treasures have you taken from hidden places?" He asked, gesturing with his hands as he did.

"Your name might carry weight among those that 'matter', but how is that defined exactly? Anyone with a fat sack of gold and a dash of influence is who matters to me. Is it the same to you, or are there more qualifications involved?" He asked critically, leaning forward. "You've spent a lot of time judging me and my qualifications, it seems. I think it's time I turned the tables."