Not knowing who to turn to frustrated Tekla greatly. She had been in this position before - everytime she came somewhere new she had had to establish herself as someone of importance in the dark wizarding communities, but the initial time before she got there was always very frustrating. Those were the only times she actually missed Sweden. There she had had a web of allies and connections that stretched the whole country, and whatever she needed done she had a way of doing it. Here she knew no-one. Literally.

Her break in at the Aldridges had been a success and she had gotten away with a fair deal of stuff that could more than likely sell for alot in Knockturn Alley. Yes, she had been spotted by the wizard of the household, but since she was new in the country and with people not recognising her face, she wasn’t that worried about it. Hopefully her hex had bumped his head hard enough to forget what it looked like on top of it.

However the troubles for Tekla came when she had left and realised she didn’t know where to turn to sell the goods. Yes, there was Knockturn Alley, which she had visited prior and known about for an even longer time. But even there she needed to be careful. Too much talking, and talking to the wrong people, would get her noticed in no time. If she wanted to become someone people would turn to she needed to fly under the radar, and see to that she did not attract the watchful eyes of the Ministry.

It had taken time to find anyone at all. She had sold a silver ring to a confused hag for far less than it was probably worth, but with the money she had rented herself a small room in the Shodding Arms from where she now based her operations. Daily she had been walking up and down the Alley, visiting shops, setting up a repertoire with the locals, and asking small innocent questions that could hopefully lead to something of value. And after a weeks worth of trying she had finally spoken to someone who knew someone.

The someone had set up a meeting with some wizard with a name she could barely pronounce. Aveed? Avade? She wasn’t sure. But her source had assured her that he was the man to talk to. The man with the web that she so desperately wanted for her own.

So that’s why she was sat in the corner of the White Wyvern by herself, sipping on a pint of mead. The pub was dingy, and there weren’t that many patrons currently using it, which suited her perfectly. For a first meeting with someone she hadn’t dealt with before she preferred a quiet place - it was easier to get away if anything went bad.

With a sigh she peered at the clock over the bar. Five past noon. The guy was late.

He had dragged himself out of bed well before noon, which sometimes felt like quite the sacrifice.  But business was business, and he'd spent enough time trying to worm himself into the dark cracks and crannies within Knockturn that Aviad wasn't going to miss a meeting, no matter at what ungodly hour it was scheduled to take place.

In typical English fashion, the weather that day couldn't decide whether it was going to choose sunshine or rain.  It was gravitating towards the latter when he finally arrived at the White Wyvern, over ten minutes late.  The pub was nearly empty when he entered.  It was lit mostly by torches affixed to the walls, which sent dancing shadows scattering across the tables and floors.  The mage gave the other patrons only the briefest of glances on his way to the bar, where he ordered an ale that was certain to be horrific. 

Unfortunately, the beer that he was served did nothing to exceed his expectations.  Flat and too warm, even for England.  Making a face, Aviad sipped at it anyway, finally turning his attention to the rest of the pub.

There.  There was no mistaking the description of the woman that he'd come here to meet.  Older, with large, round glasses that gave her a sort of owlish look.  She was sitting at a table by herself and looking none too happy, for reasons that he could not begin to divine.

Confident and unflustered, he sauntered over, his travesty of an ale in hand.

"Well."  He flashed the woman a grin that he was certain would impress as he slid into the chair opposite her.  "I would say it is too early in the day to be drinking, but here we both are, yes?"

The first thing that hit Tekla was how young the wizard was. From what she heard about him and his connections throughout Knockturn Alley she had expected someone, maybe not necessarily her age, but significantly older than the man standing in front of her. By the looks of him he couldn’t be a day over thirty.

However, she quickly and subtly arranged her features to respond to the wizard’s grin as he sat down.

“I always think the best dealings are made over a drink,” she said and raised her pint in greeting. “Skål!”

She took a sip of her mead and was unable to hide her distaste for it. When she had seen ‘mead’ on the menu she had been happy and expected it to be the one that was widely drunk in the Swedish wizarding community (the oh-so-popular Honey Mead), but this was something else. She shook her head slightly, and put the pint down, directing her attention to the man in front of her.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” she began, her Swedish accent thickly layered on top of every word. “My name is Tekla.”

She extended her hand from under her tattered robe. They were dirty and her nails were chipped and broken. She had spent too much time in her fox form as of late, and it had taken a toll on her appearance. She didn’t really mind, but a hot shower would’ve been nice before meeting a potential new client or colleague. Unfortunately there had been no running hot water in the Shodding Arms over the last few days, so she had taken to using a rag to clean herself off. She wasn’t sure if it had helped or made it worse.

“My contact said that you’re the wizard to speak to if you want to settle in here,” she said. “You’re the man with the contacts, so to say. Is that right?”

Aviad looked her up and down, making no attempt to hide his curiosity as the witch made a toast.  She had perhaps seen better days, this one.  He knew that look -- he had likely worn something close to it himself not so long ago, in the early days after his misadventure in the rainforest.  This Tekla with her funny glasses and dirty hands was not the sort he might have chosen to associate with back then, but now, her lack of Britishness made it hard not to immediately feel a fondness for her.

That she had been looking for contacts was the most of what he knew about her.  That was interesting in itself.  In the years since he'd become a frequent visitor to London and Scotland, Aviad had done his best to lay low and stay out of the Ministry's sights.  Not having an official reputation took careful effort.  In this Tekla's case, neither Tawse nor his spirit had remembered the name when Aviad had inquired.  That meant that if she was whom she said she was, then she either was also a newcomer to the London dregs, or put similar effort into staying invisible.

He paused for a moment, regarding her extended hand, before reaching out to briefly shake it.  His grip before he quickly let go was unnaturally hot.

"Hello, Tekla," he said nicely, testing the sound of the foreign name on his tongue.  Aviad flashed her a quick, bemused smile, picking up his drink again.  "I think that depends on what sort of contacts you are looking for," he added, arching a brow.  "Perhaps a friendly neighborhood healer?  A good place to buy milk?"

As Tekla let go of Aviad’s hand she couldn’t help to wonder if the wizard was suffering from a fever. His hand had been warmer than it should’ve been in his weather, and she was sure his small sip of the horrible drink passing as beer hadn’t made him drunk yet. Deciding that it might have some importance later on, she filed it away in her mind and focused on what the man was saying.

“Perhaps a friendly neighborhood healer? A good place to buy milk?”

“Actually,” she said with a small cackle. “A good place to buy milk might not be that bad to know.”

“No, I have recently…” She stopped for a second, trying to not only find the right word, but at the same time translating it into English in her head. “… acquired… some products that I would like to pass on. For something in return, of course.”

As she spoke she studied the wizard’s face. She knew (or at least she strongly suspected) he would know what she meant, even without knowing any details. This was the most crucial part of any dealings she had - the initial setting of what it was all about. It usually went one of two ways; One - he would excuse himself for not being able to help, which would be a lie; or Two - he would start to try and find out what these ‘products’ was that she was talking about.

She smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and wrapped her dirty fingers around the pint, waiting for his response.

So she was here to sell something.  Aviad studied the older woman intently, her rimmed glasses, her dirty hands.  There were rumors that a Metamorphmagus worked for the Ministry, and so there was always a danger in first meetings like this, that an enemy had put out the feeler to try and entrap.  He had been careful so far not to end up in the Ministry's sights, but that didn't mean that it wasn't a risk.

Selling something that had been illegally acquired in London wasn't difficult.  There were plenty of dark, dingy shops throughout Knockturn Alley that focused their trade not on what they had to offer, but what they had to share with a particular sort of clientele in the back.  If this Tekla had decided to search for a contact rather than go that route, that meant that whatever she had to sell was either notably identifiable or especially unique, which meant that she thought it could fetch a better price if she found the right seller. 

"I am glad that we have clarified that you are not in the charity business," he said nicely.  He smirked, giving a gracious wave of his hand.  "Luckily, although you are not, I am in the habit of being charitable.  So if I can help..." 

Aviad shrugged, meeting her gaze as he raised his mug to take a sip.  "What is it that you are looking to de-acquire?"

          “What is it that your are looking to de-acquire?”

Tekla paused for a moment, quickly mulling over the question. If it had been someone she had met before, someone she’d done business with at an earlier point, she would have told him. Maybe not of all the trinkets and artefacts she had stolen, but at least of some that she thought she could sell off quickly. But this wizard - she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. With a small shake of her head to get some strands of hair out of her eyes, she smiled back at him.

“Well, you see,” she said. “Some of the, let us say objects, I would like to get... what do you say... evaluated. I suspect they might have more to them that reaches the eye.”

She gave a small cough, and stretched her back a little. As she did, she quickly peered around the room, making sure none of the White Wyvern’s current customers had decided to start listening in. Confident in that they were all too busy eating food that looked barely cooked or focusing on sitting upright after their one-too-many bottles of beer, she slumped back into her normal, slightly crooked, position.

“So firstly, if you would,” she continued. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of someone with that kind of expertise. Someone who is also very discreet.”

Hmmm.  Either this bespectacled woman was an Auror in disguise, intent on rooting out not only him, but possibly his entire network, or she saw this as little more than another vehicle to identify the individuals that could help her.  It irritated him a little, the notion that she might think that it was beyond his abilities to give her what she needed beyond another name.  It didn't really matter that he had absolutely no expertise in evaluating magical artifacts, or that he still didn't know if he'd even recognize the items that she was looking to sell.  It was the principle of the thing.

But he didn't need to be offended.  He told himself that, more than once.  There was no reason to shut the door on this exchange entirely, and perhaps it could still be useful to him, even if it ended with nothing more than arranging for her to meet with some appraiser that Tawse must know.

"Well," he said, giving her a small smile.  "I would be happy to do point you in that direction, Tekla."  Now that he'd gotten past the oddity of it, he liked the feeling of saying the foreign name, of letting the hard sounds roll across his tongue.  "But, as I said, I happen to enjoy being charitable.  And what is the best part of charity if not knowing a little bit more about the cause that you are donating your time and shekels to serve?"

He gave her a smile, bigger this time, and settled back in his chair, raising his mug to take another drink.

"Tell me a little about yourself.  True or not," he amended cheekily, giving her a wink.  "Sometimes the untrue causes are the best of all.  What brings you to such a place as London, when you know no one here?"

          “Tell me a little bit about yourself. True or not.”

Tekla was slightly taken aback by the statement. They had only known each other for about ten minutes, and this mage already wanted her life story. This made Tekla grow suspicious. Generally speaking, and to her experience, when dealings were done all participating parties stuck to talking about the deal itself. Someone’s life was never brought up, at least not in this manner. (Sure, Tekla had held personal information about people over their heads before, when she thought she could use it for leverage, but other than that she made sure to stay professional.)

But the question was asked, and Aviad had been courteous enough so far, so Tekla felt like she could only comply and answer.

“I am from the north,” she said, deciding to not outright lie, but to be as vague as she could. “Lived there most of my life. But recently things went a bit, shall we say sour, and I decided it was time to move on. Broaden my horizons, as the Brits call it.”

She gave Aviad a smile, and mirrored his movement of taking a sip of her drink. She thought that was enough to still his curiosity, and she hoped she had read the situation the right way. With that information he couldn’t go far if he turned out, for some reason, to be a spy for either the Swedish or the Norwegian Ministry.

“As for the cause,” she continued. “To be honest, I am not entirely sure myself what it all is. Which is why I’ve come to you. There’s quite a lot of it, the products I have, and they differ quite greatly in what I think they are able to do. Which is why I’ve come to you.”

She finished with another smile. Some candor could go a long way, and she felt that this Aviad needed some reassurance.

The North.  That would be something to follow up on, at least, if he wanted to try and learn more about this Tekla.  For now, her story seemed mild enough, although he wasn't sure if that was a point in her favor or one against her.  A spy sent by the British Ministry might try to keep her background simple, but so too could a genuine trader new to the London black market, as cautious of being entrapped as he was.

For now, it seemed as if there was moderately low risk in putting her in touch with one of Tawse's people.  There was nothing illegal about making connections.  If she proved to be an undercover Auror, well, the assessor would likely take the fall.  If not, she would owe him a favor.

"Heart-wrenching," he said, clutching a hand to his chest for effect.  "Next time, you might want to stretch out the part where things went a bit sour a little more, though.  Get your audience to shed a few tears," he added, flashing her a smirk.

He took a long swallow from his too-flat, too-warm beer, grimacing, and then gave her a nod.

"Well, there are one or two appraisers that I might put you in touch with, here in London," he said, setting the mug back on the table.  "Where are you staying, Tekla from the north?  I will see if they are also feeling particularly charitable."