It was funny, really: ice cream was cold, which made it logical thinking to believe that it would withstand winter weather rather better than any other possible food one could ingest; of course, it might be torture to enjoy it, considering one would most probably have to endure not only freezing snow against their flesh but also have their teeth burn with frost, but the ice cream at least should survive. In theory, at least, though in practice it turned out that the result of eating ice cream did not change depending on the weather: Ianto Hughes’ hands were still sticky, his lips painted slightly brown, and his treat was ending up more on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley than in his mouth –an indication that, perhaps, he should have charmed it to be non melting. But he’d been in a mood to experiment, and the results were rather interesting. The Herbologist wandered down the alley with a large grin on his face, tongue daring out to lap at as much of his ice cream as he could as a few faces turned his way with features that clearly screamed out that he was deranged.

Of course, his treat was not the only thing that kept a certain jolly sense to his steps: he’d come to Diagon Alley for one single purpose, and the bag that hung from his elbow with two small boxes spelt out his success. For one morning, and one morning only, Ianto Hughes had decided to ignore plants –oh the horror he felt, and the very sadness that he’d sensed leaking from their leaves and roots, but he’d needed to entertain his other desires- and instead go searching for new purchases for his other collection. He’d been tempted by a few pairs of bowties, but in the end the dark blue ones with small snitches on them had been simply too exquisite to ignore –and he really hadn’t left the house with enough money to purchase more than one pair, for bowties were certainly getting more and more expensive by the day. An ice cream, however, had seemed like a perfectly reasonable treat for his purchase, and an unbelievably wonderful experiment to conduct.

As he walked, he considered: the fact that the sun was high in the sky and that the air was actually somewhat warm for winter –chilly, but not as chilly as it could be- might have something to do with his results, which meant he’d have to run the experiment all over again under other variables to see if everything came up the same. Pulling his hand up, he cheerfully put the cone against his lips and let his tongue drag around the dark scoop of chocolate with a slight electricity to it added with magical properties, felt the delightful jolt it sent down his spine –and then gasped: the unexpected had occurred, catastrophe had broken and life had came to a stand still in one single instant that made his lips spread and his jaw drop and tears well in his eyes.

A drop of ice cream fell on the bowtie he was wearing.

“OH MERLIN, NO!” He yelled, sweeping around as quickly as he could and grabbing the shoulder of the first person he could reach, pulling them to a stop. “HOLD THIS!” His tone was loud, his face as full of preoccupation as it could manage to be as he threw his cone into a pair of hands that might not have been quite ready for it. “OH MY BOWTIE!” He whined, as he pulled out his wand and pointed the tip at the stain. But even as magic welled around it and cleaned the best it could, proof of the stain was still there. “IT’S RUIIIIIIIIINED!” He cried, head down falling and shoulders lumping as he began to grieve.

Darian spent a lot of time in Diagon wandering the streets when he was not in his beloved high-end tailoring store. Sometimes he accosted people. Sometimes he just watched them. But the fact was, on this particular day, there was nothing very strange about the odds that led to his being forcibly yanked from his thoughtful perusal of the Whizzhard woman's expression (cloudy with a chance of Do Not Flirt With Me Again Mr. Morgan) directly into a tragedy of nearly epic proportions. He did not even mind (much) the frosty treat thrown into his fortunately deft and very talented hands, because he knew instantly in his heart of hearts that Ianto had been lucky. No one else would have so completely understood the enormity of the situation before them or been able to absorb it in only a glance. In fact he barely glanced at the ice cream cone before unceremoniously tossing it aside. It landed on the cobblestones sticky-side-up though for all he knew or cared it could have well landed on someone's head. There were far more important matters to attend to. Like bowties. Darian knew as the man spelled in vain at the dotted cloth that his day had come.

He did pause a moment while Ianto wept bitter bitter tears to clean ice cream off his hand. He'd stopped it from hitting his shirtfront but ew, really.

Then, and only then, did he whip out his own wand and spring into a suave, dramatic pose. "Don't panic!" he urged the weeping man, "Be strong, man! Here - " With one slick gesture he whipped the bowtie from Ianto's neck, snapping the cloth away with such precision and distrustful arrogance it might as well have been a coiled and dangerous snake. Darian held it aloft with  one hand and trained his wand on it with the other, eyes narrowing in dangerous concentration.

"Transvecto sordes!" he cried in ringing tones. Then, as the stain showed no sign of disappearing, "Dismoveo sordes! Illisus signo? Ire iterum egredi alius die? Oh, i futue te ipsi."

Finally, with a small, nearly imperceptible popping noise, the stain became perhaps a shade lighter. Darian lowered both the wand and the bowtie. "What in the world was in that ice cream?" he asked, looking both highly offended that he with all his experience had not been able to vanish the mark and deeply, deeply disturbed that he with all his experience had not been able to vanish the mark.

A crowd was starting to build, but Ianto didn’t have time to care –not that he really would have, anyways. People might look at him as if he was an odd ball, but that was simply because they were unable to understand the importance of his bowtie: there was another one at home, sitting in a case, a direct replicate among many others, that if removed would entirely screw up his collection. The task and the decision before him if the item around his neck were ruined were entirely impossible, and the Herbologist felt an empty sensation in the middle of his chest at the thought. He was aware that he was on the verge of a panic attack in the same fashion that a plant knew it needed water when it grew dry, but he somehow managed to keep himself for hyperventilating for he was certain such a thing would hardly be helpful in the task of resuscitating his bowtie; it was in mortal peril, and he needed to be brave, so he would be.

The stranger –who had most unceremoniously tossed his ice cream away, a very rude gesture in and of its self, and he’d certainly be giving the boy a piece of his mind later- took control: having removed the bowtie from around Ianto’s neck, the young man tried a few spells that did nothing more than clear the stain a little bit. It was all looking rather dark for the objects future, and the Herbologist could feel his chest tightening slightly. “I don’t know, and you’ve thrown it away,” His voice was tight and slightly breathless, and he’d pondered on snapping but decided he really shouldn’t –if anything, he’d just insist the man boy him a new ice cream after all of this were done. His brown eyes tried not to look insulted –not a hard task as he was rather more focused on being desperately worried-, as he stared at the man and slowly shook his head. “We must save it! What do I tell its brother if not?!”

"She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie" Lala hummed the last song that had been playing on her iPod before entering Diagon, with an absent look on her face, drumming the beat of the song on her thigh as she made her way through the crowds of the Alley. She'd just woken up half an hour ago, having worked on a commission well into the early hours of the morning. So who cared it was afternoon? It was damn early for her, and the remains of coffee on the bottom of her can weren't anywhere near enough to constitute a true cup of coffee. So she picked the first clothes on the floor, got dressed and set out to torment Sander at work until he gave in and made her a damn cup of coffee. Free of charge, obviously. He owed her. Ellie did too. They should both kiss her feet and buy her food.

"Cocaine" she finally let out the last word of the song and turned her head to get her currently silver hair out of her eyes. And that's when she noticed one Darian "Sex-on-a-six-foot-stick" Morgan, and Lala's day suddenly turned brighter. He seemed to be deeply concentrating on something, while another funny looking dude was having a meltdown over—a bow-tie? She sneaked closer to them, watching the two with an amused snort as she shoved her hands into the paw-pockets of her animal hoodie. Morgan was definitely not in good spirits, she thought, but the older man was such a curious sort'a fellow. Spazzy? Eccentric? She couldn't quite tell but she immediately burst into laughter at hearing the accessory had a brother.

She stopped near them, watching them curiously, then down at the bow-tie and turned to give Darian a shit-eating grin. "You wizarding folks..." she shook her head chuckling and raised on her tiptoes for a second, only to fall back on her heels immediately. "If it's water-solubile—the stain I mean" she said, turning to look at the funny fellow "you can just use a clean cloth and dab with a bit of seltzer water" she wrinkled her nose eying the accessory with squinted eyes. She removed one hand from her furry hat-cum-scarf and snatched the tie from Darian's hand, raising it close to her face to analyze it. She gave it a small sniff and her face suddenly relaxed having identified the offending stain. "Chocolate!" she exclaimed with an amused hum.

"I have a stain remover stick on me. I always do..." she added with brows furrowed, and set to the task of finding the little tube in her messy bag. "Hold this" she said to Darian, as he was closer, and basically shoved the accessory back in his hand. She pulled the bag open, and almost shoved her head through the opening as she felt at the insides with both hands. With a grunt, she finally extracted the little stick and smiled brightly. "It has a mild cleaning agent, so it's perfect for sensitive fabrics—like silk" she said shaking the tube at the older man, tilting her head in question, waiting for a go or no go. "I assure you, sir, this little fellow will survive to be reunited with his brother" she nodded seriously, solemnly placing her other hand over her heart.

"And, hello there, Mister Morgan" she snapped her head back to Darian, with an amused little smile, giving him a one-over with a small jolt of her eyebrows before settling her gaze back on his face. Jaw-dropping pretty face that it was... "This" she pointed at the entirety of him. "Much better. Blankets don't suit your complexion" she said seriously, nodding once. She might hate wizarding couture with an irrational passion, but apparently Darian rocked pretty much anything. She wondered if he'd pull off a potato sack... He probably would. Damn him and his sexy face.

Darian eyed the stranger, the way he was plaintively eying him. There had been a definite whine in his reply to the question of the ice cream. "Ah, but your bowtie was more important," Darian replied silkily, though Merlin be burned if he felt any real regret. It was the least the man deserved for flinging his messy treat at Darian's exquisitely clothed chest.

"We must save it! What do we tell its brother if not?"

Darian's ginger brows rose in perfect, scandalized shock. The stranger was wasting his time with mimicry bowties?! But then he thought about how devastated he would be were his own brothers to become stained, how physically painful it was to have to mend their robes because they didn't have the decency not to wear them to their workplace full of sick people and bodily fluids. Perhaps said stranger's bowties were not mimicry. Perhaps they were just very... similar. Darian swayed into a pose more appropriate to tragedy, his whole body curved into a bow and his face drawn into the very mask of sorrow. "Perhaps back at my shop - " he began.

Barely had he time to arrange his features that a petite, brightly-colored witch skipped up, looking under silver hair strangely familiar. Darian's expression faltered, curiosity proving the stronger and more important force. For the second time that day he had something shoved unceremoniously into his hands. He peered with interest into the depths of her purse as Layla pawed through it, though also with the sense that he should be offended by her smug expression and her, "You wizarding folk." He'd once scoured a shirt clean of dragon's blood, for pity's sake, it wasn't like he didn't know how to clean a garment. He might have eyed Layla with a huffy sort of petulance had she not withdrawn with a flourish a little orange wand. And, well, the once-over did cheer him up. Darian did so like to be admired.

"Ms. Styles," he greeted her, a small smile blossoming on his face once more. "I'm so glad you approve. And this...?" He gestured to her hair with an inquisitive look. Come to think of it, her hair had flashed through a different color the other day too - he had only been too preoccupied to pursue the matter. A metamorphmagus, then! How... handy. "That must be helpful."

Ianto was rather keen never to voice displeasure unless it were utterly necessary –but the fact that this young man was about to invite him into some shop was the height of disrespect, and the Herbologist found himself rather keen to voice this fact. Indeed, he would have informed the man that it was rather impolite to assume Ianto had all the time in the world to go wandering and that it was rather obvious the man wanted nothing but to find himself a new client –if not for the fact that a young lady was suddenly at their side. It was all rather confusing, the way the two went about searching for something or another in the young girl’s purse, but her appearance had reminded him that there was a dire emergency that much overshadowed the young man’s disrespect.

“If you’re done with this strange form of flirtation,” He cleared his throat, eyebrows joining in displeasure as the young man and the young lady exchanged words with tones of voice that Ianto was quite certain were signs of attraction. But love was bollocks when it came to a life and death situation. “There is a proverbial life at risk and a tragedy to be assuaged and I’ve already had my ice-cream unceremoniously tossed away,” He eyed the young man with annoyance before turning towards the girl. “So if you would please both stop your strange mating ritual, I’d be much obliged,” He paused, allowed himself a smile, for his panic had began to reside when the girl had informed him she would save his bowtie. “Although, you do both make a cute couple.”

"It sure does come in handy, at times" she grinned brightly arching an eyebrow, this close to winking at Darian 'Too sexy for the plebes' Morgan but thought better of it in this company. It was only when she heard another voice that she actually remembered why the hell she was even there, or that someone else was there. Right. Cleaning. Stuff. God damn Morgan...

She stared, jaw dropped open at the other man, shaking her head and attempting to interject at all times, but the dude kept going, and Layla Styles was not blushing awkwardly. She was bloody not. "That wasn't flirting" she said in a rather gutted voice, a bit high, a bit panicked, but cleared her throat to make sure she wasn't going to just fall silent mid-sentence, because her voice decided to off and go live into the wild. Without her. Jesus. "If I wanted to flirt, I would've mentioned the blanket and this" she pointed a finger at the red-head "are all good and what not, but that I believe Adam's suit is a far more fetching choice for his complexion" she raised both eyebrows and gesticulated wildly while saying this, finishing with a hand on her hip and a wha'cha gonna do about that sort of look.
 
She smiled serenely at the both of them, turning to listen attentively to bow-tie dude, only to almost flail herself into some passerby as she just heard strange mating ritual. "I'm losing my shit, someone call Life Alert" she muttered between nervous chuckles, letting out a really stilted breath. Holy mother of cows, this dude really laid it all out there. She spluttered about with the piece of fabric and the stain-remover, head tucked to her chest, so they couldn't see she was this close from having a panic attack, or was it a laughing fit—or an aneurysm? She removed the lid from the tube and dabbed gently at the stained silk. 

Couple? What? Them two? No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Her brain was kind of having a melt down and yet reality was peeking its ugly head through the surrealism of the situation. "Sure we do" she said dripping with sarcasm, without even realizing she had done so, raising her eyes only to realize that, yes once more Layla Styles had left her brain filter at home. She looked between the two of the, mouth opening and closing a few times."I got caught impersonating a T-Rex by my landlady today" she said letting out a breath she really didn't know she was keeping, apropos to... absolutely nothing relevant. "Sadly, she wasn't fazed by my behavior and acted like it was normal" she continued awkwardly and dropped her eyes back to the bow-tie and grinned brightly at it. "There! All done" Lala exclaimed rather loudly and shoved the bow-tie back in the older man's hands like it was burning her or something.