GOOSE!

One of your characters has to either have their main residence flooded, or get completely soaked, as a result of magic.

After the holiday rush the first few months of the new year were typically less busy in Diagon Alley, and so the little clump of witches and wizards gathered around the storefront of Libertine Ltd. rather stuck out. It was a posh little store, and though the brightly dressed mannequins in the windows might draw some lookers it was widely and quietly considered impolite to loiter. The kind of customers it attracted were not the type to windowshop; the dark wood fronting and tasteful gold lettering exuded a sense of money. Thus this crowd was particularly noticeable. Witches and wizards were just people, after all, and people loved a show. The crowd grew steadily bigger.

Water gushed out of Libertine's open door in an unstoppable stream, carrying with it a perplexing jotsam of sequins, tangled thread, clothes hangers, needles, and a small purple camel. The needles had been declared a public safety hazard in the unwise opinion of Richard Next Door, whose gossipmonger expression was cowed back into silence after his little comment caught the burning eyes of Libertine's proprietor. Said proprietor stood just outside and seethed. Some of the nearby shopowners had wandered outside to watch, and old Miss Lateridge from the knit shop down the way had volunteered blankets. Darian had one wrapped around him now, and so did his assistant Misa. It did not disguise the fact that they were both completely soaked. Darian had rocked many a look in his day, and most would assume that "dripping on the cobblestones in January" could not possibly be one of them; alas, a little water (a lot of water) diminished neither his presence nor his flair for theatrics which was currently operating full-swing.

He was so busy fuming and dripping that Misa, just behind him, enterprisingly began to cast drying charms on her clothing but left him well alone. He seemed happier ranting and it was her private opinion that anything that kept her boss occupied at a time like this had to be better than what would happen once he wasn't occupied any longer.

"I don't even know where it came from!" he half-moaned, half-fumed with furious gesticulation. A bystander risked life and limb to pat him damply on the shoulder.

A crowd of straining, murmuring people were gathered on the street by Libertine Ltd.  Elliot joined them for a moment, glancing at the suit in his hand and then back at the over the heads of the people gathered.  He'd come to have a suit tailored but something told him it wasn't going to happen.  With a wave of his wand he banished his suit back home to his closet.  No sense risking it getting messed up if he could help it. 

Elliot gently pushed his way through the crowd and when he came through on the other side, he could see the shop's proprietor, Darian Morgan, standing there soaking wet.  Water poured steadily out of the shops door, carrying all kinds of miscellaneous stuff out with it.  Most entertainingly, the street stones were coated with sequins. 

Poor Darian looked so miserable and upset, like a cat that had been doused.  It wasn't too far off, if you thought about it.  He didn't even seen to have the  presence of mind to dry himself off.  Elliot placed a hand on Darian's shoulder.  "What happened here?" he asked gently.  "Do you need a hand?"  He gestured gently with his wand towards Darian's sopping wet clothing, offering to dry it for him.

James was running errands in the alley.  He had not thought of it much one way or the ohter, but then he came across a curious sight.  Water was flowing out of someones door and into the streets.  Though he did have better things to do (like get back to practice), he was looking for an excuse to procrastinate.  He really did not feel like setting up another bludger to the head.  Or the abdomen.  Or anywhere really.

"Huh.  Guess other people try experimental spells every now and then too" James commented aloud, wondering what that said about him and this place.  Figuring that he might be able to get a little bit of good PR in for Falmouth, he figured he should  help a little bit too.  Not that he knew of any wide-area drying charms, but figured scourgify or something along those lines would probably work.

"Do you require assistance, you look a bit..." James started to say 'washed up' but thought better of it.  The man clearly was in over his head, and there was no need to inflict a pun upon him.  That, and since James did not know this person, he saw no reason to kick a man while he was down.    "under the weather," James offered for once putting those pureblood etiquette skills to use when not speaking to a female. 

It was Tuesday and deadline was fast approaching for mock ups for her latest assignment. She needed to come up with a clever cover design for a book on the history of clovers. Which seemed utterly ridiculous to Scirey. Who wanted to read a book on clovers? Apparently someone did because it was being published. Now she had to come up with a snappy cover for the dullest book ever. She'd had to draw covers for some real snore inducers but never for something so mundane. It had been a struggle to keep from dozing off as she read the book. Clovers were apparently a very useful plant for a myriad of things and had been worshiped by an ancient group of witches. Sci was half tempted to put a circle of young girls, with crowns of clovers clinging to their curls staring up at a giant floating clover, their clothes made of clovers. Okay the last bit was a bit too much, but maybe the first half could work. That was better than having a bunch of clovers on the cover. Anyone could draw a clover.

Scirey had ducked out of the office for a bit of air. Maybe a bit of fresh air would knock away the clovers that had replaced her brain cells. She was on her way over to grab a coffee when she noticed the gushing water. Ignoring the puddles, she splashed through the spreading water and blended into the crowd. What was going on? Had someone pulled a prank? It was obvious as she neared the front of the crowd that a store had been ruined by a flood. Cursed. Had to be. Who would dump that much water in a store? A fancy clothing store at that. A little bit of pleasure welled up in Scirey. It severed the pretentious store right to have a little bad luck. It was just so freaking perfect with it's gold lettering (probably real gold and not fake paint), the rich, dark wood, the quaint architecture, and lovely spacing of the layout. It was very pretty and more than a few times Scirey found herself coveting a lacy confection that was surely worth half a years pay. More than once she'd received a furrowed brow, or a look of utter horror from the oh so perfect shop assistant, who was so perfectly beautiful with her perfectly planned outfits, makeup hair. Maybe no one else noticed the looks the girl gave Scirey because well they were fleeting, quick little things before emotions became well controlled. Or so Scirey guessed. (really it might just be in Scirey's own head, because well if she were the shop girl she'd be giving herself horrified looks).  Okay, so maybe the shop girl or what ever her job title was, was just someone doing a job that she actually loved and was just a pretty girl who didn't mean to flaunt her natural beauty but it irked Scirey. Just a bit, because she envied the girl's confidence to wear anything she liked and her style sense. So Scirey knew colors and stuff when it came to art, but clothes on herself? Nope.  While, Scirey often glanced into the pretty windows, and occasionally tiptoed inside, she'd never wear anything in there. Anything more than serviceable dark robes, or comfy sweaters would be ruined by paint, ink or water colors in seconds.     Besides it was clear that she couldn't afford even a handkerchief from the stunning Libertine Ltd. Then there was the very talented Mister Morgan. Scirey had seen him in passing and well he just intimidated her. First off he created such a very perfectly posh elegant store that seemed like a god created it. Okay, maybe she was over imagining things and being just a bit over the top and fanciful that morning but really he had created a lovely store. The few times she had glimpsed him he was charming a customer in a carefree manner and probably flirting with them. He had turned that charm onto her she'd blush stumble and stutter. Charmers always got to her. Really, she needed to find a cure. Until then, Scirey usually avoided them. It was irrational but it worked. Sort of. Now here was the talented Mister Morgan dripping wet, and well ranting? Scirey wasn't sure but he was upset and well it was kind of glorious and very intimidating.  So she turned her attention away from the man whose day had  been ruined.

So now, here she was soaking up the circus in front of the fancy store and feeling just a little bit smug. Then she remembered that water was bad, very bad and that her place of business might get soaked because it could be something that was happening to all the stores. Water in a publishing house/book store was a very very bad thing. See, books didn't like water, and even with drying spells they were not the same.

So taking a deep breath, Scirey steeled herself for a bracing encounter with the very scary shop owner. Scirey had walked up in front of the dripping wet man who was throwing a very nice temper tantrum  and she nearly lost her nerve. He didn't need her pestering him and well he might just hex a storm cloud inside of Obscrous because she dared to speak to him. Feeling the butterflies form in her stomach, Scirey stopped in front of Darian and was about to turn on her boots and just flee when Elliot Griffin walked up offering his help to Darian. Scirey froze, her blue eyes widening in stunned amazement. She recognized Mr. Griffin from the book she had read about Trollhouse Publishing. He was very good at his job and since he had become a partner he had helped grow the company. Or so she had heard. Scirey wasn't entirely sure. But she knew who he was and she was a bit shell shocked. She'd once entertained the idea of sending her art port-filo of the covers she'd mocked up but had been scratched or ones that had actually been published but she'd never gotten the nerve to do it. She'd been afraid she would have gotten a howler with a loud booming laugh, or even worse no response. So she'd continued interning for Obscrous, then was lucky to be hired on as an art assistant. She liked her job, kinda sorta when she wasn't drawing weird things, or being forced to work out front where people pestered her with questions. Like she was attempting to do now. Finally, her brain began to work again and Scirey half scrambled back a step, half hopped and accidentally collided with someone. 

"So so-rry" She said with just a hint of her stutter she got when she was nervous. There she went going all a flutter because she was being silly worry wart and really just a shy fool.

Darian whirled with the blanket flaring out around him, ready to give into his dramatic urges - then realized it was Elliot who'd approached him. Well, he would still give into his dramatic urges, only Elliot had been his afternoon appointment so he did experience a brief moment of regret. Couldn't be helped, really.

"It's awful," he cried. "Tragic!" He flung his head back towards the heavens, ignoring the hair clinging damply to his face. One hand came up as though to lay languidly across his forehead, then was violently thrust away to clench into a fist. "What horror! What waste! What lack of consideration for business hours! The water just burst from the floor like the proverbial flood. My manniquins didn't stand a chance." On the contrary, all the manniquins were still visible in the window display, though likewise soaked and all huddled into the corner in a jumble of skinny, well-dressed limbs. One plucked at its shirt in silent mourning. Darian didn't pay them the slightest bit of attention. "Do you know what water does to silk?" he hissed. "My latest commission has been ruined. When I find out who's responsible for this mess..."

He threw a searing glance out among the crowd, some of whom shuffled their feet and avoided his gaze though very unlikely they were the culprits. Then he sniffed. "Hmm, what? Oh, that's very kind of you. It's all right - I can - " He gestured, as if about to reach for his wand and dry himself as Elliot had offered, not feeling the cold until he stopped ranting to notice it. But his attention was clearly not wholly in the moment as his eyes flicked from Elliot to the faces around them to the water in the street with a sort of distracted agitation that only intensified as sequins washed over his shoes. He stared down at his feet with a look of fierce discontent. A stranger offered to contact the Ministry and he ignored it, thinking hard. All the outer wear should be fine, laced as it all was with repelling charms (meant to repel rain, though, not blasted with water, he'd have to wait and see). The accessories were probably a dead loss. The wool suits - he wrinkled his nose at the very thought. What a disaster! Even with accelerated drying spells where would he keep the whole lot until it air-dried? How could he sell any of this now?

"Huh. Guess other people try experimental spells every now and then too."

His thoughts were interrupted by a thoughtful murmur that, though it had been faint and not directed at him, Darian  could not help but respond to. "I most certainly do not!" he said, affronted by the very suggestion. "Or at least, this was none of my doing." Again he noticed the cold, though this time he managed to flick his wand irritably at himself. Warm air issued from the tip of his wand as he ran it up and down his body. He waved a hand at the second man who'd offered to help - helpful lot, this crowd - a wordless, no, no, I've got it. Concentrating now on quickly getting dry he did not notice Scirey as she walked up to stand in front of him, his gaze flickering up only when her stuttered apology caught his ears. He gave her only a split-second glance, enough to recognize that the woman wasn't apologizing to him but to someone behind her whom she seemed to have stumbled into. "Yes?" he asked impatiently, because whether or not she was speaking to him she had drifted in very close to the main attraction, close enough to seem intentional. "I don't suppose you have any idea of what happened to my shop?"

Despite the weather being actually sort of sunny for a change, the temperature was still rather low, not -0, low but low enough. However, Lala was not one to sacrifice fashion for comfort, especially when going shopping, and especially after a successful session of hunting through thrift stores and vintage shops with one Eleanor St. James on her arm. On the other hand, her feet were killing her, so spotting one fabulous Starbucks had pretty much been genius, like a mirage in the middle of the desert. 

Having satisfied her need of the muggle world, and knowing that Ellie would probably not last much longer in her world, they decided to then take Diagon by assault for... well, obviously, more shopping. So here was a smiling, overly happy Lala (who could be easily observed by her current hair color, natural brown with pink ombre), walking arm in arm with Ellie, which was more for the comfort of Lala's feet and her assurance that the second she let go she'd faceplant straight into the deepest, muddiest puddle, and balancing an epic White Chocolate Mocha Venti 2% Milk with whipped cream in the other hand. "I saw a spider today, which is normal given the ruin I live in. The problem is, it has since disappeared" she said, looking at Ellie with horror in her eyes and before she could continue with her story, about how she had turned her tiny apartment into a hazard risk by using two cans of insecticide, her words were suddenly drowned into the whispers of an amassed crowd in front of what Lala remembered to be the uber posh Liber-something clothes shop. And if there was a crowd, surely there was something possibly interesting going on. So, without further thought, Lala's face turned to a demented grin and she set about elbowing her way through the crowd, dragging Ellie behind her and muttering "'scuse me, short person on high heels passin' through".

Only, usually, her sneaking through crowds technique worked better when she was not wearing outrageously high booties, dragging someone behind her and balancing both a bag and a Venti in the same hand. And it came as no surprise when Lala found herself elbowed, separated from Ellie and face first into... someone's chest. Someone wet. And tall.[1] "Oh, shi—" was all the 150 centimeters (currently 160-something) tall girl could manage out of her mouth before realizing, the precarious angle at which her coffee cup was now sitting at. Or, rather, the remnants of her coffee. If there was one thing, Lala truly loved, it was coffee, and if there was one thing people knew about her, was that you did not stand between Layla Styles and her coffee. "Sorry" she almost sobbed, but not out of regretting her little accident, no, but because the thought of her incredibly expensive, heavenly coffee, wasted on someone else's clothes was tear inducing. "You seem to be wearing my coffee... on your... blanket" she said with a frown, finally taking in the person in front of her, none other than Mr. Hottie McHotpants, Darian Morgan. Even Lala, in all her wizarding ignorance knew of Darian...

"OMG! Is that wet silk?!" she then screeched, arms waving in the air, coffee all but forgotten, at the monstrosity in front of her. Despite the horror that was wizarding fashion and the obvious dubious mental state of everyone that stood for it, wet silk was a crime against humanity. "The Lord is testing me. That's an atrocity I will not stand for" she cringed. But back to the gorgeous piece of a—"Oh, my. Such a disaster" she said faux-pity and concern all over her face. "Surely me and my friend" she waved frantically behind her, until she grabbed one hand, hopefully Ellie's and puller her to stand next to her "can be of assistance somehow, because of reasons..." she said smiling with her entire face and mentally adding "like your godly body and—Jesus Christ your face should be illegal". "BTW. I'm terribly sorry for the coffee" she suddenly remembered, and slipped her wand from the holster and into her hand, before waving it for a moment, coffee stain all but vanished.

1.	Got goosed.

outfit

For everyone muggleborn who had mumbled about the names of wizarding concoctions, Eleanor St. James could not get over the word Starbucks, which was admittedly a very catchy word, but also entirely random for a coffee shop. What was more, she could throw a quaffle anywhere in muggle London and hit the window of a coffee shop, and there would still be a queue of loyal customers. Sander might not have put a mysterious drug in his cake, but Starbucks surely amped up the caffeine in their coffee. Not that she was complaining. She was impressed with the muggles’ espresso machines, the steam regularly escaping with each shot pulled. She had settled on a small, sweet latte and was not regretting it— but maybe it would have been a good idea to double the caffeine for their whirlwind shopping trip. Whatever her father might say about women owning too many clothes, Ellie thought the energy they were presently putting into shopping was award-worthy. She was excited to try on everything again when she got home later— for the purposes of continuing their adventure around London in their new clothes after dark.

She showed teeth in a wide, sympathetic frown, that sort of slow facial cringe that could only mean I feel your pain. Spiders had a unique way of creeping up on people. “My mum's elves have a potion they’ve used for years— you can buy it—” She turned her head to eye the shops before pointing at the home goods store. “There." Like muggles, wizards had made quite the leaps and bounds in advertising such products. The shop window displayed a colorful collection of products, everything from a sassy, charmed duster to pots and pans that quivered when they were hot enough. The weirdest part of someone explaining Cinderella to Eleanor had certainly not been the animate household objects.

“Or you could crash with me,” she added with a shrug and a smile, raising the coffee to her lips. They would probably be out into the early morning after they refueled that afternoon.

Her attention, like Lala’s, was caught rather suddenly by the crowd outside of the boutique; Ellie’s lips parted into an oh of curiosity, and she went agree with Layla, who was pulling her through the crowd to get a better look. She uttered genial sorry’s and one 'nice hat' to strangers as they wove through the crowd. So many others had already accumulated that it was hard to maintain her grasp on Layla. They became separated, and Ellie landlocked behind a little old witch near the front. It was a cold, dry day in London, but from this vantage point, she saw that Libertine and its famed owner were soaking wet, as if a tidal wave had crashed down in the middle of Diagon Alley.

She looked around for signs of the Styles girl, pushing fringe from her eyes and glancing at Darian Morgan with his sopping hair and blanket shroud a few times more. What a scene.

… And there was Layla, quite suddenly, and there went her coffee, and— “Oh, Merlin.”

Eleanor pushed past the little old lady, who gave a haughty, breathy non-response. The crowd might as well have been a fence for all the work they were doing trying to keep her in. But she finally ended up behind Layla, close enough to reach out a hand and be pulled forward. Luckily, they had good timing (and that sort of weird friend connection that allowed for blind hand grabbing, otherwise Lala would have even more explaining to do, but she was very good at talking). Ellie ignored the annoyance of the crowd and moved into the clearing, stopping beside Lala, just in front of the soaking wet tailor.

"Surely me and my friend… can be of assistance somehow, because of reasons…”

She grinned in a particularly Gryffindorish way, with unabashed luck, like a smile could smooth things over. Her smile moved from Darian Morgan to the woman who was also soaking wet— probably someone who worked in the shop, who someone had been shopping— to the cluster of others vying for his attention, and back to Darian again, and she said, “You—” 'Sometimes sleep with'… Nope, something more subtle. “Know—” It was a stilted, single-syllable verb, obviously a substitute for something else, but she managed to smooth it over quickly— “My cousin Dolly.” She ended with the cheerful up note of someone trying to make the best of a very awkward situation. Which, obviously, was exactly what she was doing. Between that and Layla’s wandwork, surely no one would notice the obscure stain on the already-wet silk. Surely not its owner, or the crowd of onlookers behind them with eyes glued to them like muggles to a television screen. Still holding her own coffee, she suddenly shoved it behind her back and redoubled her grin. Her eyes caught the others in the clearing and she realized one of those faces was familiar. He he had also slept with Dolly (had actually been engaged to her). And was also easy to look at. And should also be wet. Small world. "Hey, you know Dolly, too." 'Know' was obviously a codeword here.

"I most certainly do not!"

The man then proceeded to claim that someone else was to blame for this mess.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone bump into something full of hot coffee, as well as hear someone bemoan the travesty wreaked upon silk.  James was not much for fashion.  Simple grey robes had always suited him well, and more importantly they could be worn practically everywhere except his games.  Still, the man who responded to his query had a stick up his butt that needed to be removed.  Especially after a couple of people had offered to help the man.  Apparently he had some business messed up by the water, so James was a tad more diplomatic than he liked.

"That's too bad.  It's generally how new things are discovered.  Still, I can sympathize with you," James said, relatively genuine.  The poor man just had a fair amount of coffee spilled on him after all.  He was about to say something more, but he thought he recognized St. James.  Admittedly, he had heard some rumours about Cuddyer and one of them, but Ian and he never discussed it too much.  As he thought about Cuddyer, he realized he never really discussed girls with him too much.   Now that he thought of it, Falmouth did not really either.  His thoughts then turned to Tutshill for a minute or too, and wondered what had happened to that crew.  That entire trading debacle left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth.

"These are some fairly good seats to Falmouth's game this upcoming weekend.  Maybe it'll take your mind off of things for a while," James offered, holding out four tickets for the man.  While the team members always had a number of tickets to give out, James usually turned his back in.  His mother, father and brother all had their own lives and he did not have a family of his own.  He planned on keeping it that way.

It was Elliot's curse to be surrounded by  over-dramatic people.  They flocked to him like he was some kind of kindred spirit.  He wasn't but perhaps it was his ability to provide a calm counter-measure.  He'd always been able to function as such for Dolly.  Rascal was proving to be far more difficult to subdue but they'd been working surprisingly well together so far.  Still, he wondered when he was going to be able to benefit from a normal friendship.  Elliot remained politely quiet and fairly stoic through Darian's rant.  He widened his eyes, tilted his head, and nodded at the appropriate moments in order to negate having to contribute to the histrionics.

They were joined by a smattering of people who'd managed to break free of the throng of people behind them.  Two of them were well dressed young ladies, one of whom he recognized.  He nodded and smiled at her.  "Hello Miss St. James," he greeted somewhat formally.  Honestly, he couldn't quite place her but he knew she was a relative of Dolly's.  Not that it would take a relative to recognize him for his engagement with her.  He'd been unfortunately famous for a while when they got together.   And again when they'd split apart.  The French had cared significantly less, however, and he missed that immensely.  Besides, there was something about the way the girl said, "You know Dolly too," that implied she knew about his and Darian's interactions with Dolly in the past and more recent past. 

The other lady spilled her coffee on Darian, causing Elliot to wince subtly.  Talk about insult to injury.  Luckily for all of them, she at least attempted to clear it away or Darian would have had a conniption.  It would be bad enough as it was.

"Are you alright?" he asked the young woman who'd shown up on her own.  She looked scared, nervous, and slightly sick.  Elliot's forehead furrowed a little as he peered down at her.  She scrambled backwards and knocked into a member of the crowd.  Elliot reached out a hand to steady her.  "Did you need something?"

It was possible she was just here to spectate like the others, but she had stepped forward.  Maybe there was something important.  Maybe she knew what had happened.

Alas, the indignities of the day were not yet done. A young woman flung herself against his chest - a tragically common event. Startled he grabbed her arms out of instinct, to steady both her and himself, but his instincts weren't quick enough to prevent her from flinging her coffee upon him too. Darian looked up to the heavens again, this time less a heartbroken expression of anguish and more a clear appeal for patience. At this point he was just waiting for Merlin himself to stride up and spit in his eye... or possibly insult his fashion sense. "Kick me while I'm down, why don't you," he sighed, letting go of Layla to cross his arms over his chest. His wand protruded jauntily from the crook of his elbow.

"OMG! Is that wet silk?! The Lord is testing me. That's an atrocity I will not stand for."

She wouldn't stand for it??? His was a complicated expression, torn between sympathetic delight that here was someone who understood the full tragedy of his wet silk situation and haughty sulkiness because, well, coffee. "BTW," Darian repeated, his nose crinkling in incomprehension. "I suppose I - thanks very much -" the stain had been neatly vanished - "Your cousin? Well that's..." He trailed off, visibly drawing composure and charm over himself like the blanket Miss Lateridge had provided. His shoulders straightened beneath the damp fabric of his shirt and even his curls seemed to drip less miserably. He flicked sodden hair out of his face and smiled. "It's a pleasure, then. Dolly does hoard her relatives all to herself."

He carefully didn't look at Elliot, even as the wispy one's eyes trailed over both of them and her voice dropped delightedly in a really unsubtle fashion. Who had slept with whom was always a bit awkward when one's tailor was still shagging one's ex-fiance. While it was normally a rather well-behaved elephant in the room, some people obviously lacked all the tact and common sense inherent to a flobberworm in not mentioning it. It exasperated Darian, though he hardly showed it. The new St. James girl would not be so lucky to provoke a catfight.

The man who'd commented on experimentation drew his attention again with the offering of four Falmouth game tickets. Darian glanced back at him, puzzled and surprised. "That's very kind of you," he said, blinking at the man's generosity. He took the tickets with a little bow of his head, but his eyes lingered on James. Though better suited to charming young women than conversing with Quidditch players, it wouldn't do to have the man think him unappreciative. Darian was intrigued by this man who gave out tickets like another might issue tissues or a hot cup of tea. "What's your name?"

James overheard someone say St. James, and assumed his guess was correct.  The problem was he could not remember which St. James?  Dolly? Charlotte?  James figured that he should probably at least try to remember a woman's name for more than one night at a time, but honestly...as long as he remembered to say their name ( or at least fake it for a night), most of them did not care.  James did not exactly make a point of owling them over a second time either.  Still, apparently, the poor sod was being pulled in too many directions at once.   Whatever the case, he seemed to regain his sense soon enough and then he remembered that he had never seen this man before in his life.  Or if he had, he could not remember it.  Still, James remembered his manners.  Not that he particularly cared for them, but running around making enemies pointlessly is what politics was for.  Not random occurrences in the street.  Though James would not put that past his sister-in-law.

"James Forrester.  Wish we could have met under better circumstances, but c'est la vie." James said.  He figured that he should probably say something else, but could not figure out something else to say to a man who had been washed up in the middle of the day.

"You slaaaaaag" Lala moaned in Ellie's ear, as low as she could, which given Lala's usual way of talking wasn't all that low. "You know everyone, don't you" she frowned and hmph-ed. Of course she knew Darian and of bloody course she knew the other cutie. Lala was deeply insulted for having not been introduced to either of them, and she made her feelings known by elbowing Ellie in her side.

She watched the exchange between Darian and the other dude, the skeevy looking one—I mean who the hell offers tickets to people they don't even know? Just like that! Poof, here's some tickets, yo. Lala thought the man obviously creepy. Creeper dude. Creepy creeper dude. Plus, they were ignoring her. Nuh, uh. Layla Styles was not a person you just ignored. Rude... So, to reflect her internal outrage, Layla's hair suddenly turned a blue-black, long with V bangs and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She leaned yet closer to Ellie and cleared her throat. "I'm no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one" she said completely disinterested at a volume meant to be heard by, well, everyone, while looking at no one in particular.

She shook her head and put her best smile back on, while moving a step closer to the testosterone gathering, dragging Ellie after her. "It appears my friend is lacking in manners" she said, smile in place, yet gritting the words through her teeth, while giving Ellie a side glance. "Layla Styles. Tho Lala works better, TBH" she said inclining her head to both Darian and the other cutie that had greeted Ellie. She eyed the other guy too, the creeper dude, but merely for a second and with a smile that said look at all the dog poo on the sole of my shoe.

"My—Our offer to assist you in any way still stands" she smiled genially. "As you can see, I'm... prone to accidents. I've had a bit of practice with sensitive fabrics and charms needed to fix them" she continued, turning to eye Ellie intently and encourage her to back her up. Or more like, threaten her non-verbally to act her part, else there'd be consequences. It wasn't everyday, Lala got to meet men like these, that supposedly actually held a brain as well. Plus, there would come a day when fate would slap her hard in the face, and she'd be forced to wear wizarding clothes—the horror. But, anyway, knowing a connoisseur in such matters, might come in handy sometime in the future.

“And while Lala here helps you with the merchandise,” another figure emerged from the crowd, wreathed in a slight smile that had green eyes twinkling merrily, “I think I know someone who might be able to help with your, ah, water break, good sir.” Coming up on Ellie’s other side, CeeCee glanced over and grinned, “hey guys,” as she reached over to kiss both girls’ cheeks. 

Although she usually worked Tuesdays at the café, the witch had been enjoying a rare day-off to go shopping– not shopping shopping, or she would have gone with the girls– but grocery shopping, because while mail order by owl was all very nice and convenient, it wasn’t nearly the same. The cats had been running out of food, she had run out of ink and certain paints yet again, and there had been a discreet sale going on at one of the bookshops… and so the witch had gone out, eager to stretch her legs for a bit before rest of the day dwindled away. Once she’d done the last of her shopping, she had headed home, ready to start on a new canvas.

But the crowd gathering at Libertine Ltd. had been much too interesting to ignore.

Glancing curiously at the tickets (she’d never really been one for Quidditch), CeeCee stepped forward and offered their new owner a lopsided grin, politely ignoring the undeniable mess pooling about their feet. “My brother’s no expert, but he’s rather good at improvising—unless your problem is more magical in nature, of course.”

"It's a pleasure, then. Dolly does hoard her relatives all to herself."

Ellie grinned, watching bits of water fly from his hair. It wasn’t an ideal situation-- definitely not for the tailor-- but why not make lemonade out of lemons? And she might have had a thing for hair (who could blame her?). Luckily, Darian Morgan seemed to be as charming as everyone had always said. Griffin seemed a bit more formal, but very polite, level-headed, and Ellie pondered, briefly, the reasons her cousin might have had for deciding not to keep him around more permanently. Then again, Dolly seemed to juggle nicely. Ellie would remember to commend her cousin on her life choices the next time they spoke.

If only Ellie and Lala could share a telepathic connection. It would be much easier to convey these things through thoughts than subtle miming and code words.

It was hard to imagine a more random gathering of people, but the procession seemed unending. The man waving a pair of tickets in front of the soaked tailor was vaguely recognizable. Falmouth he’d said. James Forrester, she realized. She’d never spoken to him, but she’d snapped photos at matches he’d played in and had seen him at events she’d attended with Ian. Lala was apparently unimpressed; Ellie smirked at the description.

Her friend’s not-too-quiet whispers became a bit chastising, and Ellie’s smile turned momentarily sheepish. “I don’t know them that well,” she whispered back, with emphasis. And then: “It’s just everyone is so... wet.” She wasn’t complaining. Just explaining why she hadn’t made an introduction. Then she continued, elaborating how the one had been engaged to Dolly and the other was... a good friend of Dolly’s.

But Lala had made her own introduction, and in a very Lala-ish way. And volunteered them for some honest, hard work. Ellie adopted enthusiasm without much trouble. “Yep. We’re all yours.” Well, why not? There were worse jobs. Wet t-shirt contests for men weren’t an everyday treat. And since someone had taken her favorite camera and left her a lot little bitter and wanting, she deserved some eye candy (that wasn’t going to trick her or glare at her or both).

She was a little disappointed, though, that she wasn’t covering this for the Prophet. Friends and hot, soaked men and random professional quidditch players and-- “CeeCee!” It was raining familiar faces. Ellie’s smile broadened and she returned the kiss, giving the young woman a small, one armed hug, too. “You showed up at a great time.” And offering another volunteer? Of the Rick persuasion? So generous. (Talk about someone who would fit right into the wet lineup.)

Once the man said it, Darian did recognize his name. His eyebrows became perfect ginger arcs of astonishment. "What a hero!" he said. "On the field and off, hmmm? Well, Mr. Forrester, your generosity is appreciated." It explained why he had spare game tickets in his pocket, at any rate. He held out a hand to him with a genteel, "Darian Morgan, at your service," and then several seconds later needed to introduce himself to Lala too. In full-on society mode he inclined his head to Lala, extending the offer of his name and a murmured, "It is such a pleasure." Lala was a curious one. Her inclusion of random letters into the conversation puzzled him but it was a mystery to be solved later. For now, he was never rude or dismissive towards a person he might be needing later.

Another woman came trotting up. Darian would never have noticed her if she hadn't pushed her way to the front of the crowd, giving the two girls quick kisses to the cheek.

“I think I know someone who might be able to help with your, ah, water break, good sir. My brother’s no expert, but he’s rather good at improvising—unless your problem is more magical in nature, of course."

"What luck!" he said, surprised and pleased. He eyed CeeCee with the appreciation of one who saw an actual solution in sight. A quick introduction was made, similar by necessity to the one he'd given Lala. His name presented with a little bow, a little smile, wryly apologetic as if for the water that wetted CeeCee's feet... or perhaps apologetic for the utter misfortune of their not meeting sooner.

Darian was not reluctant himself to wade back inside, but anxious to let anyone else see the wrecked interior of his darling store. All the clothing in sodden heaps, the wallpaper wet, Victorian furniture damn well ruined unless he could find a good restorer, his lovely dark paneled storeroom a mess! None of his stock was meant to be seen in such deplorable conditions. It was the difference between presenting a line of lovely well-pressed children to company or muddy ones still stinking of duckweed and pond water. The very thought made his stomach twist!

And then he remembered he was Darian Freaking Morgan. And what's more, that he had been about to turn these three young and lovely volunteers away - one of whom was practically falling over herself to, ahem, "help." Good God, the water really had gotten to his brain. CeeCee's brother, he could use. The girls... well, they'd brighten up the place while he worked.

Pushing aside any internal squeamishness, his expression broke into a dazzling smile. "You're all so very kind," he said, voice lowering modestly. "How could I object?" At the very least they could help him hang up all the clothing. It would all dry faster than normal clothing given the inlaid charms, but it was only once it was dry that he could assess any true damage. Darian twirled off his blanket carelessly into some nearby unfortunate's arms. Underneath, indeed, his shirt had managed to only be slightly damp. He looked to CeeCee, inquiring, "Do you think we could persuade your brother to stop by soon? I suspect - " he smirked at the girls - "we will be here for a while."