Outfit | Title Reference

Quinn walked slowly over the endless hills, feet heavy, heart even heavier. Her parents annual trip to the Alps was usually a daughter-free zone, but the only child had seized the opportunity with both hands. Anything, anything to get away. It was needed. Lou hadn't got in touch for weeks, neither had Grace, nor George. It had all got very lonely, and Quinn knew she had nobody to blame but herself: it was obvious. Lou must've known about that summer with her cousin, that lovely, glorious summer in which they'd kissed and laughed and joked and embraced. And then he'd returned to Waker Nolan, the beautiful girl, the academic - they were playing house now with baby on the way. Lou had Edmund, Grace had ambition, but Quinn? She was left unemployed, under-achieving and ultimately friendless. It was awful not having her accomplice around. Really awful.

This holiday was for Quinn to think about her actions - again. Why did she keep making mistakes? Why did she keep making the same mistakes? It had all exploded with the Flickwicks when Quinn was foolish enough to fall for John's charms, and now she'd ruined the Carters. Lou and George's relationship must've suffered - that was clear - and Quinn was the catalyst once again. I'm such an idiot.

It was a surprisingly warm November afternoon. Quinn's parents, as lovable as they were, weren't the best of company 24/7. There were so many meals out and talks about Quidditch she could handle, and although they both knew something was wrong with their daughter, they never pried. Quinn would tell them in her own time or sort it herself. After breakfast, Quinn decided to take a stroll which turned into a walk which turned into a full-on hike. It didn't matter where. She just wanted to get lost. Legs aching a little, she finally chose a spot and carefully placed herself upon a rare grassy plateau, completely silent, lakeside and incredibly picturesque.

Falling onto her stomach, she unpacked a few pieces of parchment from her bag, a flask of butterbeer and a quill. The reassuring sound of the heart-warming liquid filled the copper cup, and she took a thoughtful sip before putting ink to page.

Lou...

Her quill stopped. What was she going to say? How was she going to explain herself? Was it even explainable? If George were here now, annoyingly poking her stomach and biting that full, round bottom lip, Quinn knew she'd fall again.

Looking up, a small ranch was maybe half a mile up ahead. Non-descript, secluded. It looked perfect.

A stretch escaped him as he yawned, reaching up towards the sky. Things popped and cracked as he twisted himself this way and that; it had been a good morning. He’d been working with a new Swedish Short-Snout that had gotten to the property only two months before, and the damn thing was only just warming up to him. It was part of what made him love his job, though.

The ranch hand he employed helped with feeding (and other lackey duties) during the evenings and the occasional day that Felix either compiled research together and worked, balanced the books with his accountant, or went out for a good time in a big city. As long as someone was on the premises at all times to keep an ear out for the dragon(s) that were housed, Felix had more freedom. Which was why he’d been able to step off for a simple breakfast (and some Christmas shopping) in town.

It was a few of kilometers out of the unplottable valley he had to get to the main road, and then another couple more before the closest town would come up, but on a day like today--it was a welcome change of pace. Felix had taken a light jacket, as the weather had been chillier earlier in the day. Now, however, it had warmed up, and the jacket was folded and shrunk into his trouser pocket.

His boots made soft crunching noises in the leaves as he left the road and started back onto the familiar trail (that would make a muggle feel uneasy and wish to turn away). It had been unusually warm the past couple of days, allowing snow to melt in certain areas; mud pushed up around his well worn dragon hide boots. Felix swung his arms out, considering what else he had to do that day.

Until he noticed the girl, of course. Eyebrow rose at the unfamiliar bump along the landscape he thought he knew so well. Felix diverted his course and started up the hill, smirking to himself as he considered the possibilities.

What he saw, however, had not been entertained in his imagination. Staring at her backside for a moment, he finally cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, smirk still planted on his lips. Talk about some hills he could stare at. “‘ello. Are you lost?” Arms crossed over his chest; clearly she wasn’t a muggle, or she wouldn’t have made it this far. But why not stop in at the house? Say hello? Leave a name, number, place to find her at with the ranch hand? She didn’t look familiar... but then, Felix couldn’t keep his little black book straight.

Quinn looked up, tilting her head slightly with a slender hand shielding a gaze from the sun. An older man stood there - not 'fatherly' old, but older than herself - attractive and well-worn. She had no idea where he came from. The nearby ranch? Somebody else taking a walk? He sure as Merlin wasn't French, but there was a certain intercontinental finesse about his accent (and his face). Perhaps he was one of those rare breeds that was raised all over, in different exotic lands. The flannel shirt and workwear boots didn't give much away, and she couldn't work out whether the bloke was a muggle or a wizard.

"No, not lost," she replied with a faint un-Quinn-like smile. "Just having a wander." Sitting up, she sat cross-legged, both arms behind to prop the blonde up. As she stared at the man, Quinn retained the same vague facial expression; her gaze was neither frightened or intimidating, but quietly welcoming. He was pretty handsome, after all. "I'm not from round here, I'm holidaying with my parents."

Parents. Quinn almost slapped her hand to her forehead for such a juvenile remark. This was a man, not like George or John, but a real grown-up man that probably shaved every day and drank wine for reasons other than getting hammered. "I mean, I don't usually go with them, I just fancied a break." Shut up Quinn, stop waffling. Despite her own embarrassment, she continued to smile and took a sip of butterbeer.

Noticing the ranch once more, she leant upwards on her knees, pointing at the modest building some distance away. "You're from there?" Quinn didn't want to presume it was a barn, as it may have been his home - keeping things cloudy meant nobody got offended. She glanced down at the parchment, noticing the beginning words. Flipping it over casually, Quinn returned her focus to the man. "I aren't trespassing or nothin'?"

She supposedly wasn’t lost (though Felix bet if he asked her where she was on a map, she couldn’t tell him exactly), and didn’t seem scared around men who appeared out of the woods. Both were good points for Felix. He admired the easy way she sat up. There were too many times young adults took movements for granted that Felix, in his slightly not so young age, wistfully remembered. Creaking joints were not the sexiest thing in the morning.

“I’m not from round here, I’m holidaying with my parents.”

Felix squinted a bit. Parents. The sun was a bit bright, what with its position in the sky and all. Parents… Mind raced for a few moments as he processed it, taking her in one more time before raising eyebrows and standing up straighter. Well. Perhaps he’d just offer her and her parents a tour. She was young… but that young?

“I mean, I don’t usually go with them, I just fancied a break.”

A break from what? Hogwarts? Smirking to himself, Felix nodded. He knew she wasn’t from around here; the accent (and language, for that matter) was distinctive. It wasn’t as if he had the best luck in the world, after all. He wasn’t going to have some cute young blonde walk up on his property, shimmy out of her clothes, and ask him if he liked what he saw. This was real life, not some Playwitch magazine article.

Felix laughed then, nodding at her question. Of course she didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t introduced himself. She also had been ‘just having a wander.’ Still.

“I don’t have many people walk on to the property. It’s my place, yes.” On occasion, wizarding families vacationed near just to see the dragons. There weren’t many other magical reasons to be around where he was, after all. “They usually give me notice.” Smirking, he took a step towards her. Though she was nice to look at, the idea of parents had distanced him. “I’m Felix Dagon. Are you interested in a little... tour?”

"A tour? You don't even know me," Quinn muttered, raising a teasing eyebrow. "I could be a psychotic woodland nymph, here to take your mind and possessions." Falling back onto her stomach as both hands propped up her chin, Quinn grinned. This time, a mouth that was a little overcrowded with white, large teeth flashed the man with something far more genuine and believable. For that moment, thoughts of George and Lou and fallouts and fooling around disappeared - this stranger was great procrastination. Mature, rugged, handsome; her parents wouldn't approve of an older guy, but harmless conversation was just that.

"And I don't even know you. You could be a purist for all I know." Quinn's words were laced with jest, almost challenging Felix to confirm her vague suspicions. She had a hunch that this fella was actually alright: just a genuine, friendly (and ridiculously good looking) man that had approached her randomly in the Alps. Immediately, Quinn repeat such a sentiment in her head - how friends would scoff and say it was too good to be true. Probably best to keep that guard up... just a little bit longer. "Preying on young halfblood women and taking them back to your... ranch."

It all sounded incredibly appealing. Boys like George and John were rugged and feral enough - but they were just boys. This was a man, in the flesh, a well-versed, worldly, experienced man offering her a tour around his ranch. Her parents would be furious. Her appetite would be satiated (for the time being).

Holding up the flask of butterbeer, she offered the man a cup with an inviting grin. "I'm Quinn. And you can have a drink, if you want." Her cockney accent was a little foreign in such idyllic surroundings and she made no concessions for the fact this man may not fully grasp her words. So what? If he wanted it, he could try harder.

Smirking at her response, he felt like rolling his eyes. Felix wasn’t taking candy from strangers, after all. If anything, shouldn’t she be the one worried? “Psychotic woodland nymph...” He reacted to her words with widening eyes and a laugh on his lips. “You could be. More likely a Veela in these parts, though.”

Veelas could be troublesome, after all.

Finally she came to worrying about herself. An eyebrow rose, and he flexed his arms before crossing them over his chest, staring down at her before shrugging. “Living next to a muggle village? It sounds like the perfect alibi.” He hadn’t had to worry much about blood in more recent years, after the fall of Voldemort, most people tended to keep those prejudices under wraps.

His own Death Eater mark was covered up as best as possible. Thinking about it made him want to itch the area. Still... that was a long time ago. “It’s what I get up to on the weekends. During the week I try to interest muggleborn women.”

Once again his eyebrows rose. Looking from her to the flask, he finally accepted it with a smirk. Holding it up as if to toast, Felix paused before taking a drink. “Nice to meet you Quinn.” Offering the flask back, he rested his hands on his hips and looked her over. “It is going to get chillier up on this hill, though.” How she wasn’t cold all ready, he wasn’t sure. Maybe a warming charm?

He thought to offer her firewhiskey (talk about something to warm one up!), but then... was she old enough to have some?

Veela, really? This guy was a hoot. Quinn had been lucky enough to bump into one or two part-Veelas in her life, and they'd all been as regal and exotic as the Queen of Sheba. Captivating, entrancing (that was their purpose after all) but somewhat terrifying; how could anybody be that beautiful? Quinn had her own charm, but it was neither mesmerising nor goddess-like. To even compare her to a Veela made the blonde girl stifle a giggle. Fair play to the guy, he obviously had a sense of humour.

"Well, you're going a good job on the interesting front..." she murmured, rolling onto her front lazily, feet in the air like a 50s pin-up (with less makeup and more glitter, of course). Raising her own cup to his, she drank yet her eyes never left his. Anybody with half a brain would see the young witch was flirting, but there was something incredibly risque about this one. He was more experienced. Older. A lot older than any other men Quinn had taken a fancy to. "And you are?"

Part of Quinn wanted to leave him nameless, to have some rugged enigmatic bloke pursue her like a wild bear (the thought made her palms sweat).

"Then I guess you have something stronger in your house, then? Can't be having a young Veela like me freeze out here." She grinned, her overcrowded mouth full of pearly white teeth, imperfect and thoroughly British.

Thoughts of Lou were still there, and it was killing Quinn that she couldn't immediately relay this tale of shock and wonder. Whilst her best friend would've warned the dangers of skulking around France with strange men, Quinn knew Lou would be secretly impressed.

He tried to keep interesting. Luckily, the women in his life (minus Gabriella) weren’t around long enough to find him boring. Felix watched her and smirked. When she asked who he was, he blinked and raised an eyebrow. Had she not been listening when he offered her a tour? “Felix. Owner... of this property.” He couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice as he gestured around them and out past the cliff she was on.

Felix couldn’t help but laugh at her boldness. He liked it. “I wouldn’t think of it. I have plenty in the house.” His eyes moved over her face, finally stepping towards her and offering a hand. Felix could act a gentleman when it was necessary, and what was nicer than helping a young woman up from the dirty ground?

A roar ripped through the air, echoing as it left the barn. He paused and frowned in its direction. Hopefully he still had a ranch hand. “I’ve got firewhiskey at the house, if you’re interested?” His frown slipped off and he offered her another smile; he had to get back to make sure the dragons were ok. “It helps warm the body on these chilly afternoons.” Not that he would have more than one; even if the ranch hand was safe, he wasn’t a Keeper.

"Oh, yeah..." Quinn murmured, realising her own stupidity. She'd been so wrapped up in this lovely chap that his previous tour of the ranch fell on deaf ears. "Yeah, sorry." Damn. Just as she was acting so mature and demure and enchanting, Quinn had to muck it up with schoolgirl embarrassment and shifted uncomfortably to her knees. It really was getting quite cold. Folding her arms, the blonde finally got to her feet and stood before Felix.

She was a little shorter than him (which she loved) and gave a wry grin that was both mischievous and innocent. "Well, it's not gonna drink itself, right?" Immediately, she boldly linked her arm with his, as if signalling the older gent to lead the way. "I have to tell you though, us Veela can drink most people under the table. Don't be ashamed if you keel over in an hour or so." Another grin. Whilst definitely not one of the mythological, beautiful creatures of legend, Quinn certainly was a good drinker - Grace, George, Fir and Lou had all bowed out to let her take the Queen Booze Supreme crown.

Walking alongside him slowly, her bare legs started to feel the effects of the cold. A few goosepimples appeared on her ample thighs - no matter how cocksure she seemed, Quinn was human like everybody else. "What's your favourite song?" she asked, tilting her head awaiting a response. It was a stock question for Quinn whenever meeting blokes outside their usual social circle - it was a good indicator of what a guy was really like.

Was he one of these older guys that was still clued in to the latest Weird Sisters tracks, or was he stuck in the 80s and thought everything shoulder-padded and political was still cool? Quinn awaited with bated breath.

Felix waved her apology off, smirking at her. “Don’t be. I enjoy talking up my place. And myself.” He’d learned long ago that honesty was often the best policy. Sometimes, it even made the ladies think you were lying, and that worked in his favor (usually). For who could be so brash as to straight up tell you what he wanted?

Felix Dagon had always had such a nerve. That didn’t mean that it always paid off.

Luckily for him, the girl seemed somewhat naive in the ways of rude older men. He mimicked her grin. “I hope not.” If his alcohol started to disappear without Gabby at the house... That would be an interesting development indeed.

Blinking at her, he let her settle into his arm before pulling it closer to him, and incidentally her as well. A laugh escaped him; did she think a couple years of drinking too much butterbeer was going to knock a grizzled veteran who had drank too many worries and anguish away over years of practice under the table? Still... it was good to let the girl dream. “I didn’t realize that was a trait the Veela had. Something to keep in mind. I wouldn’t want to give you the opportunity to take advantage of me.”

His teasing voice said he meant the exact opposite. Women were predictable creatures; they liked to feel in control, and if they thought they were going after you, well... Easily made happy, at first.

They always seemed to want more as time went on. That was the part Felix didn’t do well with.

The path down the hill was easy enough to walk along, even linked arm in arm. Her question stumped him for a moment as he considered. “Favorite song...? I just listen to bands.” The alternative of his youth still got his fist pumping if it slipped over the wireless. Older stations, now, similar to ones that he would make fun of his parents for listening to. “I saw the Punched Sickles live a couple of times. Talk about a crazy event.”

The memory made him smile. That had been a long time ago, back when Gabby was just an infant and Kayleigh and he could slip away with a babysitter. “The Weird Sisters had some hits back in the day. I’m not the biggest fan of their new stuff.” His wand moved tree branches out of their way, the path getting more worn as they got closer to the buildings. “What about you?”

"Advantage of you?" she scoffed loudly, glad of the arm that pulled hers closer. "Please. I've met men like you before, I know what you're all about. Thinking a few drinks and us girls can be so easily charmed by a bit of reverse Muggleology or whatever they call it." Quinn giggled once more, casting him a mischievous glance. Her statement was only half true. She'd met younger men that would grow into wizards like Felix, but there was something more honed, more experienced about his approach. George felt the need to inject his flirtatious come-ons with lashings of bravado and testosterone. John stoked her fires with passions of his own, leading to that all-screaming, all-kissing relationship that everybody seemed to experience at one point in their life. Felix though, Felix was a proper man. The scratchy, razor-worn beard proved it.

His music taste however, was refreshingly cool in that vintage, classic way. "Punched Sickles, nice, nice..." she murmured in approval. Part of her screamed to be born in another age. She saw the photos of her parents when they were young with flowers weaved into their clothes, long shoulder-length hair and ugly crocheted jumpers that were still kinda cool in a nerdy 70s way. Okay, so Felix wasn't that old, but he grew up in a time that Quinn idealised to be one without Witch Weekly popstars and the need for witches in only the finest of Madam Malkin's.

"I like all sorts," she admitted, shrugging. "A bit of Hecate's Trio, Mildred and the Bubbles, Doxybreath. Old or new, I don't mind. You've got a wireless, right?" Quinn looked at him, as if challenging his age.

Felix smirked. She’d met men like him before. How quaint. “So you know my game?” The charming, flirting, and general feeling out of the woman started long before a drink was bought (or, in this case, supplied).  If the young woman thought she knew what Felix was playing at... well, it was always interesting to see women think they knew a man.

It was cute, even. Challenges were fun, though.

Especially if they were young, dazzled women with legs that made older men’s hearts beat faster. If she wanted to play open-and-honest, Felix was willing. Sometimes the truth was harder to believe than the line. Like the fact that he had a few-ton death machine in the (larger-than-normally-necessary) barn.

And sometimes it was more than one. It all depended on his clients.

The smirk stayed, deepening slightly with her assessment of his music taste. That she knew the name could be expected. Gabby would have had many years to memorize song after song. That never meant she enjoyed the Punched Sickles, or any music Felix put on.

Mildred and the Bubbles were after his time, but Felix had listened to a few Doxybreath albums. At least enough to raise an eyebrow at her in slight admiration.

“You’ve got a wireless, right?”

Felix laughed and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t that old, was he? “Well, back in my day, you were lucky to get reception so far out in the wilderness!” Humor dripped off his tongue. “Luckily, the wireless works just fine.” Now at the level of the house (down the hill and through the trees to Felix’s Shag Pad), he motioned to it with his free hand, stepping in time with her. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He had a good grasp on appropriate use of irony.

Steps led up to the porch, and he loosened his hold on her to open the door. “Ladies first.”