ooc; thread rated [M] for language and some possible debauchery

The fox trotted down the Hogsmeade main street.

Paw prints imprinted in the snow behind the animal, a trail was built –but it would do nothing but lead to an empty field and end there, mysteriously unfinished and with no point of origin. Its red fur bristled in the wind, while its dark eyes glanced about, perhaps a bit nervously –but mostly impatient and eager to reach its destination. Its right hind-leg dragged behind, a slightly darker color of red that almost resembled purple and didn’t look healthy at all. A patron of the Three Broomsticks stepped into the winter wonderland that had been created by the snow, only to draw back in fright at the sight of the animal trotting almost prideful down the street. The fox’s nostrils widened as it inhaled, and it felt pleasure at the pregnant scent of fear in the air. Then, it turned into a small, dark alley way, leaving people to wonder where it had gone.

A few minutes later, Adam Turner emerged, a wince of pain on his chilled face as he limped forwards, his grey eyes already on the building just a tad bit ahead –his destination. And, outside –because at times the Fates could be merciful-, stood the woman he was looking for. If Adam had been the smiling type, he would have broke out in a grin; all things considered, however, his nonchalant shrug was close enough to glee as he stepped forwards, one hand on his hip and the other pressing against his throbbing thigh. Though the woman’s hair was red, rather than a bleached blonde with a silly colored fringe as it had been when he’d first met her a few years back, the tall heels she wore and simply the way she held her body as she brought a cigarette to her lips was recognition enough.

“I wouldn’t say no to a cigarette,” He said of way of greeting. Adam didn’t smoke anymore, had quite ages ago –although he still tended to roll one of the cancer sticks between his fingers when nervous-, but at the moment he could think of nothing more attractive than nicotine. His eyes rolled mischievously as he stepped in front of her –slightly stumbling as he accidentally put too much weight on his injured leg- and let a playful smile onto his face. “Miss me much?” His silver eyes traveled up and down her figure, before landing on her heels. “I see you’re still all fake, Izola. Some things never change.” Her relatively higher hight had always been a topic of distress, and it wouldn’t be the first time he heard her call her a fake for using high heels.

Izola had, by virtue of being amazing, managed to finish her last appointment with ample time to take a break before the next. Although she wasn’t wearing clothing warm enough for the outdoors, she craved tobacco, so she slipped outside anyway. It was as cold as she’d supposed, so she left the door ajar, standing close by to enjoy the full effects of its warmth, but she still shivered a little as she clicked her lighter impatiently.

She’d only just managed to light it when she heard the greeting, a hand curling protectively around the cigarette before she recognised the advancing figure and let it fall, taking a quick drag to calm herself. Work was far too trying, while she usually managed to take on the most interesting clients, she still had to concern herself with the finances, and that was unbearably dull. Exhaling smoke in a puff of warm air, she reached slowly into her pockets, cunningly concealed by the way the dress draped, and pulled out a packet, removing a single cigar and offering it to the man while he continued. “Not at all,” she said, not entirely truthfully – Adam was a good customer, and spending time around him did keep her on the edge. The long stretch of time since they’d last seen each other helped too, as she’d forgotten how aggressive he could be, not that it was an entirely bad thing.

“Fake? Please, you try wearing these,” Izola snorted, “You wouldn’t be able to take ten steps, sweetie.” If she was going to suffer heels, they were going to be counted as part of her height, not that she needed the advantage to stand over the cursebreaker. It would never fail to amuse her that, no matter how skilled he was, Adam was still insecure over the matter of lacking a few inches in height, something that he couldn’t have controlled anyway.

“Not,” she added in a more thoughtful tone, “that you seem to be able to walk in normal shoes.” Her gaze lingered on his legs before moving back up again, and she raised an eyebrow, “I suppose it was too much to hope that you just wanted to see me, hmm?” Izola would have been more surprised if he had simply dropped by to catch up, Adam had never expressed any interest in the subtleties of life, but this wasn’t entirely usual either.

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open, "It's warmer inside." Although it would mean abandoning her cigarette, Izola was prepared to sacrifice it for warmth. A cigarette outside, she could manage, but not an entire conversation - and if they were indeed conducting business, she preferred to do it away from prying eyes. Head tilted, she waited to see if Adam would enter.

Smoking had been a hard vice to break, yet Adam found himself possibly falling back into it again as he accepted the fag she held out and place it between his lips. The small tube felt familiar against the soft skin, enough to send a rush of content through his body, as he quirked an eyebrow. Pulling the cigarette from his lips and holding it between long fingers, he shook his head at the woman. “How hard they are to use doesn’t make your height real,” He commented nonchalantly, as he reached into a pocket to drag out a lighter he carried around out of pure habit. Lighting up, he casually shrugged as she mentioned his leg, feeling the familiar feeling of smoke curling around his lungs before blowing it all out.

“It’s not like I’ve received any invitations to tea,” He retorted, stashing the lighter back in its pocket as he balanced the cigarette between his fingers. “I wasn’t aware that paying you left a standing settlement for lunch every Sunday,” Nodding, Adam took a final drag of his cigarette, stepping forwards as she invited him inside. It was a pity to toss a smoke when he’d just started it, but he found himself crunching out the burning embers with his heel against the snow. Then, Adam dragged himself towards the door, making sure not to wince even though his leg was throbbing as painfully as ever. Standing at the threshold with close to no distance between them, Adam was once again faced with the fact that her heels meant his eyes were at the height of her throat.

“You should consider going barefoot,” A playful smile purchased his face, as he slid past her and into the small shop, pausing to wait. “Heels just make you uglier,” The insult was entirely dishonest: Izola was an attractive woman; but the fact that she insisted on being taller than him simply served as an annoyance. Turning slightly, he held an arm out and indicated the store around him. “Lead the way –I want to get the fuck off this leg.”

"I don't drink tea," Izola replied, "there's no point." Coffee could wake you up far more effectively, and provided it was made properly tasted delicious, so why should she drink what had always seemed to her to be a second rate version of it that tasted considerably worse? “But you needn’t wait for an invitation if you’d like to have lunch.” Although they’d met through business, it wasn’t as though their relationship was limited to that, and eating lunch with him would certainly be entertaining, not least because she couldn’t imagine him being content to just sit and talk for the entire meal.

“You should consider going barefoot, heels just make you uglier.” At that, Izola laughed, but didn’t bother to comment, well aware that Adam’s sensitivity on the topic meant that they could go back and forth for ages.

She took a little pleasure in grinding the cigarette under her heel, even though she’d hardly touched it, before shutting the door behind Adam, relieved to be inside again. “One moment,” she smiled, stepping through a door that was ajar, and shutting it partially behind her. The sole inhabitant of the room, preoccupied with reading the most recent copy of Witch Weekly, ignored her entrance, and Izola smiled. “Cassie, darling, I’m busy, be a darling and take the appointment for me.” It was an order, and when she’d received a nod of acknowledgement, Izola returned to the corridor – not that it could properly be called that, there was hardly breathing space – and gave Adam a reassuring smile. “All sorted,” she announced, taking a surreptitious look at his leg before quickly unlocking a second door to reveal a staircase that was considerably steeper than normal.

“Can you manage the stairs?” she asked haltingly, staring at his leg dubiously. If he was limping, it was sure to be bad, since he was both proud and stubborn enough to pretend that nothing was the matter. If he couldn’t, she would have to use the coffee room, and that would be inconvenient, to say the least; the other workers would be understandably unhappy, and turning up with a bloodied, attractive man was sure to invite unwanted comment. “Or are you too weak?” she prodded, hoping that the obvious criticism would convince him to ascend. “I suppose giving you a hand wouldn’t be too awful,” she smiled.

The pain is his leg was getting to the point of being annoying, a soft scowl dragging across Adam’s face as he watched Izola disappear into an adjoining room. He heard the soft sound of voices, but was unable to make out the words –and nor was he truly interested in what was being said. All that mattered was getting to which ever room she planned on taking him to, in order to get off his bloody injured limb. As if answering his pleading, the woman reappeared into the thin as hell corridor, where there was barely enough room for the both of them –especially if they planned on not touching. “Thank Merlin,” He growled, not all too pleasant at all.

His pleasantness dissipated even more when Izola opened another door –and revealed a fairly steep staircase. Adam had the nagging feeling he’d be forced to climb it, and the idea wasn’t at all pleasant: when in prime state, he’d be able to jog up it without a single issue, but in his current situation the fact was it might be all too much for him. Too make the situation all overly worse, she seemed half thoughtful and half simply glad at the issues this entire matter arose. Adam, meanwhile, was half tempted to strangle her and half tempted to stab her with his bare hand. Instead, he settled for a scowl.

“I don’t need a bloody hand,” He stated through clenched teeth, as he realized there was an easy solution to the entire matter. He stepped into her, so they were face to face –although his eyes were a bit lower than hers, but he’d rather simply not notice that fact. “If you really think a pair of stairs is going to stop me, you don’t quite know me well enough,” He stated simply, although his eyes were still simmering with anger. “I could climb it with my eyes closed, and it’d barely sting –but there’s an easier way.”

Stepping back, Adam allowed himself a playful smirk, one that clearly informed her she’d never see him beaten. Then, twisting on his good leg, there was a pop, and he disappeared only to appear at the top of the stairs and the next landing. “Now, if you’d just get up here, babe, I could use a place to sit down.”

“Of course not,” Izola agreed, looking at him with a smile, and then quirking an eyebrow in interest when he announced that he had a solution. A moment later, she laughed, surprised at the use of the spell for so mundane a use as going up a staircase, although it was understandable, since he was barely staying upright. It wasn’t something she would have considered, but Izola found herself looking at the steep staircase reluctantly; she’d rather not climb them either, if she was honest, but apparating everywhere was a terrible habit to get into… Fortunately, Izola had never been concerned about picking up terrible habits. They were far too fun not to have any, and people without them were almost certainly terribly repressed and dull.

A second pop; Izola smiled at Adam, “You do have good ideas, sweetie.” It wasn’t always true – becoming a cursebreaker was a terrible idea, far too much stress to be healthy. Not that being a hairdresser was without its trials, but it was at least reasonably stable and mundane, and didn’t involve hiking to far off countries and getting unpleasant leg injuries. But at least the worst things she had to deal with were boring customers and trying to balance the books… on second thoughts, being a cursebreaker suddenly sounded like a far better career option.

As usual, the room’s size hadn’t prevented every available surface – including a reasonable amount of the sofas and in a few places, the floor – from being piled with all of the things that Izola refused to throw away. It gave the room a chaotic appearance, but it was far from being unstructured, and Izola knew where to locate everything in it – or at least which pile it was in, the specific location might take a few moments longer.

Unfortunately, that meant that Izola had to step forward quickly, lifting a pile of laundry out of the way so that Adam would have a comfortable seat, balancing the load precariously on a second pile of clothes before gesturing him to take a seat. “Make yourself comfortable,” she suggested, “Do you want a drink? Or would you rather I take a gander at your leg first?” She assumed that he would take a drink with her; it would be rude to visit with business the sole purpose, especially since he’d expressed an interest in having a meal at some point.

A second pop, and Adam wasn’t certain whether to roll his eyes, push her down the stairs just for the fun of it, or laugh. In the end, he settled on smirking –and perhaps his eyes did roll just a little. “There you go, stroking my ego,” He sighed, pressing a finger against his damaged thigh and digging a knuckle into it, eyes screwing tightly shut at the pain that ran down it. “I’m all for admittances of how bloody brilliant I am –but not right this moment,” Apparently she knew he was about to say that, for she quickly went about moving. For an instant, his gaze settled on the sway of her hips –as he was reminded there was far more than one single reason he’d chosen to ask her for help with his injury.

The instant his eyes left her hips, they breathed in the sight of the very cluttered room he stood in: piles upon piles of items of varying grades of apparent necessity were stacked on piles upon piles of other crap, and it quickly became quite a wonder –as Izola manage to move one stack of clothes onto a second one- that the hairdresser could manage to make herself around –or even manage to find anything she needed. To Adam, it looked simply like chaos, and chaos often wasn’t the clearest sign of health, which left him rather uncertain if he truly wanted his leg treated here. But yet another painful itch had him forgetting such notions, as he moved towards the clutter couch with as much ease as he could manage and settled down.

At her question, he rolled his eyes once again, although his voice was somewhat drier when he replied. “Alcohol now, alcohol during, and alcohol after,” Was the easiest way of putting it, as he shifted the injured leg until he found a position it was somewhat comfortable in. Just a few minutes from now, he’d be stripping down –there was no way she’d be able to check out his thigh otherwise, unless she cut his pants, and the second was not really an option- but he wanted to be comfortable for now. “Best you’ve got of whatever you’ve got for me,” It might have been somewhat early in the day, perhaps, but there really was no rule in his mind as to when drinking was permitted.

“So, how was life?” He found he was rather more tempted for a cigarette than just alcohol, but as she’d been smoking outside he had a feeling a fag wouldn’t be permitted indoors –and asking about her life was a distraction, even if he didn’t really give a flying fuck. “Last I knew of you was Asia.” And that had been a day to remember –and one certainly less painful than today.

Rolling her eyes, albeit fondly, Izola nodded in agreement to quantity, “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked.” The demand of quality was less impressive, and her lips tightened fractionally. It was rude, even by Adam’s rather lax standards, to make such a demand of someone, especially since he was imposing on her. And in any case, her best was for truly special occasions, and Adam’s visit was inspiring responses that were a little too mixed to call it such.

Instead, she walked across to a small cabinet, crouching to open it and evaluating the contents while Adam tried to make small talk. It would have been amusing, if he were talking about almost any other subject, but as it was, she paused for a moment, staring at a label before she slid the bottle slowly back into place.

“That’s old news,” Izola replied, short. It wasn’t a period of her life that she wanted to revisit – while the occasional return of it was inevitable, she was now respectable (or mostly so, being wholly so would be unbearable) and preferred not to mention it. It was, she supposed, a weak point in the foundations of her current life, and even if Adam didn’t intend to exploit it, it still made her bristle that he’d mentioned it. But if he knew that she cared, it would give him power over her; she remained calm, smiled, “I left years ago. I would complain that life since has been dull, but,” she replaced the bottle in her hand and took out another, “with you turning up I could hardly call it that.” Although it wasn’t the finest, it was by no means poor quality – a little better than she currently felt Adam warranted, if anything, but that was mostly because mentions of the past unsettled her.

Deliberating for a moment, she only picked one glass off the shelves, as while a single glass would hardly make her drunk, medical treatment – even in circumstances reminiscent of a back-alley abortion clinic – shouldn’t be undertaken if the practitioner (although she snorted at the idea of being called that) had been drinking. It was disgusting how moral she was being, but she reassured herself that after she was done, if she could do anything, she would be able to drink to her heart’s content.

Passing the now full glass across, she smiled, “What about you? Are these injuries a regular occurrence, or is this a one-off?” The question wasn’t entirely idle; Izola had a vested interest in knowing if Adam would turn up on her doorstep regularly – although she couldn’t say it would be objectionable if he were to do so. “And what managed to get close enough to cause that?” she asked, gesturing at his leg. If Izola wasn’t happy to talk about some parts of her life (almost all of it, really) she was more than happy to talk about Adam’s life. After all, it had been ages since they last saw each other and he doubtless had no end of exciting stories for her to live vicariously through.

Her back was towards him as she searched for alcohol in a cabinet and he inquired about her life, but there was something in the short tone of her voice when she replied that made Adam narrow his eyes in curiosity. His leg was still throbbing, but he calmed it the best he could with a wide-open palm against his thigh, and by focusing on Izola. She’d built a respectable façade of a life here in Hogsmeade, yet the fact that she was about to cure his injury meant she hadn’t entirely let go of her age of criminal actions. Like most everyone in life –like even himself-, she was putting on an act; like every human being –wizard or muggle- she had a secret, and apparently it was a fairly sore note for her. In despicable news for Izola, however, there was no form of torture more enjoyable in Adam’s mind than to stick his finger into an open wound and wiggle the digit around in rotting flesh. Figuratively speaking, as well as literarily. Biting back a whimper as he unexpectedly shifted his position and pain burned through him, he widened his silver eyes as the moment of shortness was gone and he could actually make out the hint of a smile in her reflection.

Games and games were all they played, but what none of them understood was that Adam had a way about seeing behind lies. But he had no interest in what Izola wished to hide and what she wanted out in the open, so he nodded innocently as if her story had satisfied his curiosity about how she’d gone from Asia to Hogsmeade in such a small number of years. The witch chose a glass –only one, a clear indication she was being responsible today and Adam almost wanted to snort; he kept quiet, however, eyes remaining on her face as she poured alcohol, passed the glass over and made her own inquiries. The assassin calmly picked up glass, and took a sip that was barely more than enough to moisten his lips and taste the beverage: warm, high percent of alcohol and not all too horrible –yet not the best of what she had, he was most certain. He’d kill her later if the buzz wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling the pain he was almost certainly about to experience.

“Oh, you know me,” In one hand he held the glass, the other waved nonchalantly at her as if they were speaking about the weather. “Accident prone and all that shit,” He patted his injured thigh, winced at the pain, and took a longer sip deciding it was rather merited. “Bloody idiot that I am, I tend to take a few too many risks on the job,” He said, alcohol burning in the pit of his stomach but creating a rather muddled, pleasant sensation at the same time. “This here was some type of spell, I assume –it’s bruised, but there doesn’t appear to be a puncture wound that would indicate an insect.” Adam winked at the woman as if the topic were entirely fun and a conversation worthy of Sunday lunch, but in all reality he was rather considering the possibility that Izola might have to die sooner rather than later –perhaps not today, but certainly if he used her too often.

Finishing off his cocktail, the assassin poured himself another glassful, not quite asking for permission –although he did relent as far as to glance into her eyes as if seeking permission, but acted before seeing any hint that there was. He took a long sip, hissed and then looked at Izola once again. “So let’s get to this,” He stated, reaching down and unbuttoning his jeans. “Get the bad crap out of the way so we can get to the fun stuff,” Adam lifted his hips and pushed his jeans down to his knees, glancing up at Izola and smirking. “Wasn’t about to let you cut them to pieces.” And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t planned to get naked afterwards, anyways.