1705 hours, Bellamane Residence above Salon


Hogsmeade was a sheet of white, stippled by flecks of witches and wizards who were braving the soft and deadly chill. Rascal was not one of these swaddled souls. No, no, nope. He was underneath a lovely roof... granted, not his own. It never is.

There was a fire going in the home of Izola Bellamane- a witch he had met in passing at some unimaginative event - and music was playing from some unseen source. An elegant violin, like two seahorses attending the philharmonic orchestra. Rascal was sat with his legs crossed and a tall glass of rose wine in one hand. He wore an intricately patterned dressing robe that draped like heaven.

Next to him on the sofa was an octopus. Mind you, a tiny one. It looked perfectly at ease, sat there with tentacles writhing to the music and beak clipping.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along at any moment-" the author commented to the sea creature. "- and imagine how pleased she'll be to find us!"

Having left her minions employees to finish shutting up, Izola disappeared into the back of the salon, making her way to the stairs that lead to her house. They were, as ever, painful to walk up, far too steep and creaking every other step, but it was a climb that she assumed was good for her. That was what she told herself, at least, it was well known that you had to suffer for beauty.

At the top of the stairs, she froze at the sound of noise from within her flat, and she fumbled in her pockets in search of a wand. If they were professional burglars, there was little she could do, but she might need to create a distraction before making good her escape – and wasn’t that ludicrous, escaping from her own flat? Not that it was the first time. An ear pressed to the door, she was surprised by the light-hearted tone of the voice coming from within.

Tapping the door with her wand, she stepped in with wand aloft. But despite the lifted want, it was doubtful that Izola looked particularly menacing. It took her two scans of the room before she realised that the only intruder was the one ensconced rather too happily on her sofa.

Oh, and the small octopus next to him.

“Rosier?” she asked as soon as she’d put a name to the face, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The words, although politer, were said in the tone of oi, what are you doing in my house, but although her wand was still lifted, some of the aggression had gone from her pose.

There she was! A sight to behold, as sharks and squids!

"The pleasure is all mine Miss Bellamane," Rascal leaned back on the couch and crossed his legs. "I was bored, it was snowing- and then I remembered you!" he lifted the glass of wine in his hand (it was really just bubbly but served his purpose).

Why, the salon proprietor was a sight for the sorest eyes- and not to mention his own, quite rested orbs. He liked to choose the grumpy ones or interesting ones; Izola didn't quite fall into Cam's category.

"Lower that stupendous arm-" he indicated the wand happily. "- and come join Arthur and me. You see, I didn't come altogether empty-handed, I've brought a gift!"

The octopus made a clipping sound and he turned his grin to the tentacled creature.

"Don't worry in the slightest! She's only human." Rascal explained. "Fantastic specimen, too."

Izola stared, her eyes flicking to the glass of wine. Not, she hoped, from one of her own bottles, although that was rather beside the point. People were supposed to indulge the follies of genius and the obscenely rich, weren’t they? It wasn’t as though he was there for malicious purpose, and it was indeed cold outside.

She would still be getting new wards put in place.

As instructed, she slipped her wand into her pocket, an eyebrow lifting fractionally at the choice of name. Arthur made Izola think of ye knights of olde rather than sea creatures. “I’m sure there’s a story behind that?” she asked, “If your reason for being here is simply that you were cold and bored.” If people were going to break into her flat, the least they could do was entertain her.

Drawn in by the promise of a present, Izola paused in front of the author before moving a box off the armchair nearby to sit down, smiling at the compliment, “you’re not half bad yourself.”

Her smile widened just enough to hint at teeth, “I would offer you a drink, but it seems that you’ve made yourself at home.”

If Rascal was relieved to see that his guest Izola had lowered her wand, he did not show it.

The author grinned, childishly pacified, as she sank into the armchair across. Her remarks were friendly on the surface but he knew a thing or two about reading between lines: very few witches appreciated strange men lounging in their parlours. Not even pretty ones bearing enchanted octopi.

"My supplier of sea creatures happens to live here-" he explained, handing Izola a glass of bubbly as his octopus clipped away quite cheerfully. "- not in your flat, of course, I mean Hogsmeade. Funny chap. Apparates all over the place for darlings like Arthur."

All of this was half true, as lies were a trade non-secret.

"But that's dull stuff." Rascal reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thin, narrow box with great flourish. He raised an eyebrow at her before bowing his head to hand it over. "My lady's gift?" Cheekily,  the wizard peeked up at Izola's face. "It won't bite. I promise- and my word is gold, or nearly as good."

Clearly, he knew just how to placate her. Presents and flattery were the easiest way to Izola’s heart, and the addition of a pretty face was never something to be scorned.

Izola couldn’t help the smile at Rascal’s comment, although the subject of strange men in her flat was still a touchy one. She didn’t care much for sea life herself, except to eat, but she wasn’t going to sneer about his apparent fascination. That kind of interest tended to wane, set aside for new obsessions which would be lost in turn.

“Thank you,” she said as she took the box from him, smirking at his pose – perhaps unsurprising, given his profession, there was a penchant for dramatics there. In this particular instance, one that she appreciated.

“Silver, then?” she suggested, “which suggests untrustworthiness.” Despite that, she was already lifting the lid of the box, peering inside to see a beautiful watch. It looked like something Rick might have made, an octopus with its face replaced by a dial, and she picked it up with care, only for it to wrap around her wrist. “Ah,” she said quietly, lifting it up to admire it against the light. “It’s very elegant,” she said after a moment, “I don’t have anything to give you in return – unless you’d like a few of the peacock feathers?” It wasn’t really a fair exchange either way, but then, he was making use of her home.

Untrustworthiness?

Rascal smiled smoothly at this. Well, she deserved that shot seeing as how he was lounging in her apartment on a cold winter's afternoon. He drank his bubbly and set it down before leaning forward to admire the watch as it slid around the witch's pale wrist- made for her fine joints.

"Oh, that's fine-" the wizard appeared quite sedate now, and waved away the offer pleasantly. "I went through my peacock phase eons ago, there's a vase of them somewhere in poor Cam's flat. Under his bed? Or on top, it's hard to say."

Next to him, Arthur made a sound and he patted the bulbous head distractedly. It would have to go back to his friend later- Balfour drew the line at Jelly Fish, there was to be no eight tentacled brains about him. A shame! Not all sea creatures were made equal, or at least not on level four.

"Do you always allow strange men to make themselves at home-" Rascal tilted his head to consider Izola interestedly, in a manner both personal and professional. "- or was it the Octopus that did it in my case?" he had expected to be hexed at least once, taking into account previous experiences.

How sublime, that people could continue to surprise- and with benevolence, too.

So the interest in crustaceans was only a phase, but Izola had nothing to offer in return, since she doubted any of her old dresses would fit Rascal. It was a shame, there was one that would be just the right colour for him, but she liked it a little too much to part with even if she never wore it. Instead, her hospitality – which was not at its finest, for obvious reasons, would have to suffice.

She was still looking at her gift, for longer than was polite, and she returned her attention to her unexpected guest, managing a thin smile, “only the pretty ones. I was persuaded by your chin.”

It was perhaps true that she should have thrown him out, but… she liked company, and as an author, Rascal was expected to be finer than most, by reputation as well as profession. Reputation wasn’t everything, but several of her friends liked him. Still, the question irked her, and a change in topic was required.

She crossed her ankles, staring at his chin contemplatively, “Have you ever grown a beard?” She was sure that there were some styles that would suit him, but it was an impressive chin and it would be a shame to hide it.