Chaz kicked an empty pop can in petulant anger.  He buried his chin into the collar of his coat to protect against the wind although he couldn't help but feel like he deserved miserable conditions.  He and Gale had been quite snippy with one another the last time they saw each other and it left a sour taste in his mouth, remembering the frown on Gale's face when Chaz had left in a huff of indignation and anger. 

So much was happening all at once in stark contrast to the past year where all he'd really done was draw and job hunt.  He'd had so much time, all to himself in the absence of friendships and work in London that he'd almost forgotten what it could be like.  Adding Gale to his life had been so easy... for the most part.  When they were on good terms with one another, being together was natural and easy.  The weeks were spent separately pursuing their own agendas and goals.  Perhaps it was the winter holidays.  Spending so many days with one another in a row had revealed quirks and pet peeves previously unknown. 

On top of that, Chaz had been busy with the schematic design of Gale's house which involved many, many owls sent back and forth, trying to discern what exactly Gale wanted.  He understood now why his professor at school had advised that he never design for family or friends.  He was tempted to argue far more than he usually would with a client.  Add to that Chaz's professional inexperience in working by himself, it wasn't going the way he'd hoped. 

The scenery changed around him as he walked, but Chaz was deep in thought that he barely registered it.  He crossed streets and turned corners with a fairly random and subconscious decision making.  He sidestepped strangers with unseeing eyes.  In a strange and unfamiliar part of Muggle London, he really ought to have been paying more attention.

The long narrow streets of old London seemed to have a life of their own come nightfall. The day's warmth (what little there was) had vanished, and leaving behind a bitter cold that made his bones ache. Closer still, he Jean-Luc came, watching of the youth with ever interested eyes and never trailing far enough behind to keep out of the boy's sight. However, the artist was in his own little world, kicking cans and shouldering strangers in his anger like a blind bull in it's fit of rage.

Rossignol must have kept this one on his toes, and the very thought made the old son of France grin. That's my boy, he thought to himself though his thoughts were broken rather quickly by the deep monotone voice of his partner in crime,

'He doesn't seem his type,' Camille perked a brow in her questioning, clearly not amused with Chester nor thinking him fit enough to be the love interest of her mentor's prince.

"Oh, looks can be deceiving, M'dear," He cooed as he touched her cheek, his voice thickly laced with an accent often associated with Northern France, "You should know this of all else." His dark eyes gave a pointed look down at her outfit of choice, a moment of deception of their own had them laughing over the bit of 'housewife' goods she now sported. Her winter coat, over a wool dress, with flat shoes scuffed and well worn, seemed the every day dress of any regular woman, but 'normal' wasn't something The Conductor [1]was ever called. Her hair fell around her shoulders in blond curls, once tightly pinned victory rolls[2], were now tussled and her make up smeared a little as she used water to smear her make up, and dropped a bit on her cheeks.

"The show must go on, no?"Camille, did her best Jean-Luc impression before slipping in behind the path Chaz took, and taking off in a dead sprint screaming.


"Help! Help! Someone please help! I've been robbed!"

With that Jean-Luc melted into the shadow to watch the scene unfold.

1.	Stagename
2.	Hairstyle

Chaz's head whipped up and around at the cry for help.  He saw a woman running up the street towards him dressed simply, if not somewhat old fashioned.  Her hair tumbled in messed-up curls around cheeks marked with smudged makeup.  He reached out with one hand to stop her and steady her as she came up to him.  He held up his other hand to indicate that he was empty-handed and meant her no harm. 

"It's ok," he soothed.  "Tell me what happened."  He looked over the woman's shoulder at the people on the street.  Some of them were looking their way curiously but no one seemed particularly guilty of theft, nor was anyone running away.  He looked back down at the woman.  "Are you alright?  Did you call the authorities?"  He might have offered to contact them himself but, to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure how to contact Muggle authorities.  He didn't even know what they were called. Bobbies? 

He peered cautiously at the woman, looking for signs of further distress as he waited for an answer.

In Russian she spoke, as fast as her lips could part, the ruby red paint on them somehow making her words seem tainted with the poison of her helpless cries, it was Camille's one downfall.

"Please..." She breathed, her eyes wide and seeming less amused at being captive by this man compared to any other. Jean-Luc would owe her big time for this, and finally she folded--falling into her savior like any perfectly over acted damsel in distress. Quietly shuddering at the touch of the other man, but playing the part of melting into his arms like a helpless lamb perfectly.

"No. No I have not," Her accent so thick the English sounded broken, and she lifted her face stained with tears to plead to the man, "Please. You must 'elp me, the police here can not...help me, but you...you can." Her dark painted lashes widened at the suggestion of the man before her being more than just an average human.

"Tell me, please. Are you a man of..." Her hands smoothed over the surface of his chest, her bottom lip pouting while her entire body seemed to lean into him, "Magic?"

The woman was babbling hysterically in Russian, one of the languages Chaz didn't speak a single word of.  At least, he thought it was Russian.  In Paris he'd met quite a few Eastern European people who'd all kind of sounded the same, despite their entirely different languages.  "Please calm down," he begged uncomfortably.  Tears.  A woman producing tears.  And he didn't even know what had caused them!  "I'm afraid I don't understand you."

"Please. You must 'elp me, the police here can not...help me, but you...you can." Her dark painted lashes widened at the suggestion of the man before her being more than just an average human.

"Tell me, please. Are you a man of..." Her hands smoothed over the surface of his chest, her bottom lip pouting while her entire body seemed to lean into him, "Magic?"

Chaz caught her when she fell into him, of course he did.  He wasn't about to drop her to the ground.  He did, however, hold up both hands in shock.  His palms faced up and out, open and uncertain.  This was probably the singularly most awkward and unsuspected encounter he'd ever had on the street and that's where he met Darian. The mention of magic took the odd feelings and turned them slightly suspicious.  He dressed like a muggle very well.  You would never know it to look at him.  He was also careful to avoid mentioning magical things.  He'd spent to much time traipsing around muggle construction sites asking them how they lit buildings without candles to know there were some things better left unsaid. 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked, eyeing her critically.  He took a step back and let his hands dropped.  One hovered, ready, beside his pocket.  "Perhaps we should call the authorities."  By the tone of his voice, it was clear that he was suggesting they call him for the woman, who must be a little mad for asking him if he could perform magic.

"We should. Quick. You should--" She stumbled on her feet, throwing a hand over her brow before absolutely leaning into him, "No. I need a drink. Won't you be a dear and take me somewhere warm?" She shivered in his arms, wrapping her arms around his hips, "I'm so very cold."

And like that the scene folded, the woman held her head in one hand, squeezing her nose to try and straighten her spine, "Forgive me. It's been a long night," Camille's character changed as she pulled on a smoke from her little pocket wallet and lit the end, "I have truly been robbed. But let us just say it's not what you think." Her tears didn't stop, but her hysterics did.

"I could tell you were different, perhaps often stand out against the crowd like stars in the sky." A sniffle from a dainty little nose would subject Chaz to her poor mood, and that little pout of ruby red lips made her look much older than at first glance,

"Take an ole' girl in and buy her a drink to warm her bones? Won't kill ya, would it?"

Chaz grimaced uneasily.  He wasn't comfortable with this strange woman plastered all over his front.  He most certainly didn't want to go anywhere with her.  She knew too much and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that this was some kind of set up.  Maybe she wanted money or something.  Not that she'd get all that much from him.  Poor as dirt.

His theory was seeming more and more likely now that the hysterics vanished and the tears eased a bit.  Like flicking off a switch, she was a completely new person.

"Take an ole' girl in and buy her a drink to warm her bones? Won't kill ya, would it?"

"I don't know..." he replied slowly and suspiciously.  "It might.  I still don't know who you are or what you want from me.  I'm not particularly interested in following you anywhere right now.  Why the ruse?  How about you just be honest with me and we can go from there."

"I'm not particularly interested in following you anywhere right now. Why the ruse?  How about you just be honest with me and we can go from there."

Everything about this woman stiffened, every muscle in her body hardened as her hands came to her hips and she rolled her shoulders. Her unamused eyes like daggers are they glared at him, and her lips flattened into that constant scowl the Russian woman wore like a coat of arms,

"Because if I told you, you were being hunted as we speak, and that your life depends on me you wouldn't believe me would you? No, you are far too nice for that, Chester." Camille struck her heel against the stone street, and a spark flickered for a moment and bounced over the cobblestone.

"I would not take it too heart, Darling," Came a voice from behind, "You put on a good show." Spider-like fingers reached out and touched the woman's chin, turning her face up to him with a smile, and they both seemed amused. The woman looked back at Chaz with a small shrug and took a few steps back. The streets were empty now, save for the mist that swirled around their feet and a lone street lamp that added light in all the wrong places.

"Chester Lawrence, Wizarding architect, alumni of Beauxbaton," Jean-Luc went on to name the boy's parents, his hometown, and even his street address.   "My my, how you look so much like your little sister."

Jean-Luc as a very tall man, one that often had a few inches on nearly everyone in London, and despite his thin frame it was solid and stern--carried like a noble, even in his leather outlined rags. His hair was at the same length if not a little longer than Gale's but as black as night with only a few strands of gray.

"Eva, is it?"

The woman from before moved behind Chaz, blocking the street and his escape, while Jean-Luc stood by a large door against the brick wall, and smiled.

"I've been looking for you for a very long time."

Chaz stiffened with fear and anger.  He seemed to hunch a little bit with uncertainty in the face of this man who knew too much.  His school, his parents, his hometown.  All of that could be found out if you did your research so, as angry as it made him, it wasn't cause for distress.  But his sister... Eva was his favorite.  Young, vibrant, and kind, she was the  Lawrence family at its best and Chaz was not ok with the idea that someone had been spying on her to get to him. 

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to meet the taller man's gaze.  "I don't know what's going on here, but leave my sister out of it."  Eva was even at Hogwarts for the year.  She'd come with the other Beaxbaton students for the Tetrawizard Tournament which put her in slightly more danger than if she was all the way in France.  "Whatever problem you have with me, she has nothing to do with it." 

His voice held a tremble of a warning to it that he was prepared to enforce it despite the fact that the he was sure he'd die doing so.  His family was a sensitive subject under the best of circumstances but he loved Eva fiercely.

"What do you want with me?"  He was hyper-aware of the woman moving around behind him to cut off possible escape.  Nor were there witnesses to give them pause if they chose to attack.  "Who are you?"

Jean-Luc stood against the boy's questions like a firing squad and smiled with amusement as one by one they fell around him. Who are you? What do you want with me? like fire as they fell, and he couldn't help but be amused. My his boy had rather good taste, if he in fact had the right one this time.

The Illusionist studied the boy before him, from his pale lips to the deep lines around them from laughter so rich it had to be cherished, and he could see the appeal instantly. Gale had always loved to laugh, and did so without reason and often without anyone around at all. He could always find his child when the boy was thought to be lost, by simply stopping a moment to listen for his laughter.

"Who I am is of little importance, Chaz, but you..." He took a step closer to tip the boy's chin up so that he could see his face better, "You are so very important. Won't you come inside?" With one sweeping motion Jean-Luc offered Chaz to go before him into a door that was now open, and the light of a pub inside swept out onto the stone like sunlight.

"Come inside, and let me buy you a drink. And we shall talk about you and your sister hmm?"

Chaz jerked his chin away from the man's gentle touch.  For although it didn't not cause him pain or threaten him in any particular way, it was exceedingly disquieting.  He glared at the man for causing the discomfort and took a half step back.  He wanted his space back.  None of this felt right.  On top of that, it was extremely surreal.  Things like this didn't happen to him.  He was too normal, too average.  He just kept his head down, made friends easily, and rarely if ever gave anyone cause to dislike him.  Chaz Lawrence did not get accosted on the street by tall, dark, and handsome men that could kill him as easily as looking at him.

His glare lacked strength or power because he felt powerless.  One stranger at his back, one at his front, and a gentle but uncompromising invitation to share a drink.  He glanced at the proffered arm then at the doorway it indicated.  It led into a dim pub, one of those local dives that's always minimally busy.  He could see one or two patrons through the grubby window including the bartender, which was the only reason he gathered up enough courage to willingly enter the pub with the man at his back.  The hair on his neck stood on end.  He was aware of strong presence behind him. 

"Are you going to tell me what you want with me?" Chaz asked tensely, perching on a bar stool.  He wanted to be close to a witness, Muggle or no, just in case.  "More importantly, why is my sister of any concern to you?"

Ignoring all of the boy's questions, Jean-Luc entered the room as if he owned the place, and though the small little dive wasn't one of his own he certainly came enough that even the shadows knew his name and bowed in respect. The keep had a drink ready and waiting for him, and thought Camille kept close she too went to visit the laps of men who adored her.

"It has very little to do with your sister, Chester. I just needed something to hold against you." He spoke as he as well perched on the seat beside Chaz, "I'm actually more interested in getting access to that school, and was wondering if you knew anyone on the inside that perhaps could get me a little information?" He ordered them both a drink, and the keep was quick to comply.

"I've been looking for someone with a few connections, tell me...Is there anyone that comes to mind?"

Chaz knew two people inside Hogwarts and if this jerk knew about his sister.... would he know about Gale?  Of course he would.  The opera wasn't long ago, Gale had outed himself to his fellow faculty.  They were gossip so it was possible that he knew about Gale.  Whether or not he was trying to use Eva or Gale against him specifically it wasn't going to work.

He shot to his feet, anger written in the lines of his face.  His glare was no longer weak in indication of his uncertainty, but blazing with confirmation that he didn't much care what the consequences would be. "Forget it," he snapped.  "There's no way I would ever help you get into Hogwarts.  I don't even care why you want access."

Chaz was actually insulted that someone would approach him of all people to try and get that kind of information.  Anyone on the street would tell you he couldn't do anything for anyone.  Most certainly not like that!  He turned to leave the pub.  Somewhere in his mind he was aware of how stupid he was being.  Given how little he knew about this clearly dangerous man, he could be signing his death warrant right now.  But worked up as he was, he couldn't bring himself to care.  He just wanted this whole thing to be over.

With a small flash of darkness over the light, and a crack that sounded horridly like thunder Chester's body was slammed against the pub's cold wall. The lights in the room dimmed only to flare to life upon the contact. His hands balled the fabric of Chester's suit front in tight holds as he held the boy there, and he held him a few inches off the ground.

"I didn't say you could get up," His voice boomed as his black eyes burned like coals, "And you will learn your place. You are not here to come and go as you please."

The entire room was paying attention though only partly so, as if this was something they would have placed bets on had it been a different man Jean-Luc held. By now they were used to the Romany King and his captives. "Now take a seat, and have your drink." He hissed as he pushed the boy back to the bar, where laughter fell from the voices of strangers, but a few shouts in Jean-Luc's direction were silenced by the man's deadly glare.

It happened so quickly that Chaz didn't even have time to process what has happening to him until the spots cleared from his vision.  He groaned when that happened because he suddenly realized that his head hurt, his back hurt, his eyes stung with the sudden flare of light.  It was hard to breathe with his chest compacted between clenched fists and the wall.  Chaz fell against the bar when pushed towards it.  He braced against the wood and fought to regain his breath.

Merlin but this bastard had one hell of superiority complex!  Learn his place?  Who did this guy think he was to have earned the right to threaten his family and push him about?  Chaz couldn't help but wonder what he'd done lately to earn this kind of abusive attention.  He sat reluctantly but did not move to accept the drink the bartender had placed there for him.  "I'm not going to help you," Chaz repeated firmly.  He looked sidelong at his assailant with teeth set.  He meant it.