It was a Sunday afternoon - and it was a free Sunday afternoon at that.  During the last three months of working part time at the Ministry and part time at Reducto's, significant stretches of free time had become infrequent novelties.   As the little shop bell chimed over Reducto Record's door, Jacoba slid the last of her stack of restocks into the record bins and hurried over to the counter. 

"Mystical mood music has been restocked," Jacoba said to Arthur, the record shop's newest hire, as she circled around the counter to grab her bag.  "There are no more deliveries expected today.  Mrs. Donnelton will be by around three to return her copy of Weird Sisters.  And, with that, I'll bid you adieu.  Goodbye.  Good luck.  All the various necessary sundries."  With a parting wink and grin to the young wizard, Jacoba slipped through the door at the back storage area and up the stairs to the small, modified flat in the shop's attic otherwise known as home.   

Jacoba shrugged out of her work clothes, tossing them on the unmade bed.  She crossed the open attic to the corner-turned-closet and began rummaging through her more-muggle oriented garments.  Three choices of shirts were tossed across the room onto the bed.  She'd just tugged a tight pair of black jeans from their hanger when there was a knock on the door. 

"It's open!" Jacoba called towards the door.  "Though be forewarned.  I'm playing the role of paper doll.  Enter at your own risk."  She was just tugging the first of the three blouse options (a simple, white button up) over her head when the door creaked open and Corby walked in.  "What do you think?"  She asked, turning towards him.  "With the leather jacket?  Yes?  No?  Came here not to think?"  Jacoba grinned, turning to lift one of the other shirts off the bed.  "I'm heading out for a bit.  You bored?"

It was, indeed, a free Sunday afternoon. Corby had spent the best part of the day lounging in his skivvies on the couch, listening to the sounds of the WWN. He’d heard Three Owl Standard twelve times in three hours, and that was simply too much for the poor boy’s ego. One could only hear their own talents in the media so much before their head spontaneously combusted. And though Corby was a fan of unexpected explosions, most of the time he preferred when it wasn’t coming from his skull.

He grabbed a pair of jeans from the living room floor and sniffed them for freshness. After discarding a pair and grabbing another, the bassist threw them on and reached for his wand. He contemplated throwing on his wand holster, but figured it’d be best not to attract unwanted attention in muggle London, and so settled for slipping the slender wooden instrument into the inseam of his newly adorned jeans.

He wandered the streets of Diagon for a few short minutes but quickly realized that the attention he wanted could only come from one source: drunken disorderly conduct with muggle policemen… and Corby knew of only one person that could make that happen: Jacoba.

He rushed over to Reducto and was bombarded by the newest member of staff. After signing a few records for the boy, he offered a sly wink before heading up the stairs to Jacoba’s flat. Normally he would have simply busted right in, invited or not, but catching the muggle lass in her skivvies was something you just didn’t recover from. After a quick knock and an answering call, he pushed into the small apartment.

And realized his knock of courtesy was wasted. He still caught her in stages of undress. “Uh… what’s it matter? Just throw something on,” Then he looked down at his rumpled appearance and ran his fingers through his short hair… perhaps he should have pressed his clothing first… nah. “I’m thinking we’re long overdue for a good session of muggle-style debauchery, whaddya think?”

Oh Brits and their propriety!  Even after years of drunken disorderly conduct, even their rock stars weren't entirely immune to it.  How readily Jacoba forgot that the Brits were somewhat more bashful than their mainland European neighbors.  Jacoba rolled her eyes and turned back to the task at hand, despite Corby's lack of helpfulness.  He may be content with throwing on whatever article of clothing he spotted first, but Jacoba was not. 

A top, a seater leather jacket later, Jacoba shoved her feet in a pair of boots and grabbed her bag.  After double checking her bag for her car keys, she turned and waved Corby out the door.  "Muggle-style debauchery is my spécialité," Jacoba countered with a grin as she followed, locking the door behind her.  "I was thinking of heading over to Namco.  Beer, potato skins and childish antics?  Figure bumper cars have to be as good at staving off dementors as anything else, you know."  At least for one who could no more cast a patronus than leap over building in a single bound. 

"That sound appetizing?" Jacoba asked.  "Hit up a club after?"  They could plan for an evening of progressive debauchery. 

She skipped down the shop's back steps and glanced, briefly, towards Arthur.  The young man seemed content, with no obvious signs of lost franticness, so Jacoba pushed her way through the shop door and out onto Diagon Alley. 

"When will this rain go away?!" Jacoba glared at a dark cloud lingering off towards the east before looking pointedly at Corby as if expecting an answer. 

Progressive debauchery sounded exactly like what the doctor ordered, and though Jacoba was a rather attractive lass, Corby couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief when she finally stuffed her feet into boots, signaling the end of the near-nakedness. He simply hadn’t had enough to drink to not find that situation at least a tad bit awkward. Not that he minded seeing Jacoba disrobed… but it simply wasn’t the time to be thinking thoughts like that. Thoughts like that led to regrets next morn.

With a nod to her suggestion, Corby followed Jacoba from the shop, tossing Arthur another trademark wink before heading out into the rain. His clothing was already peppered with precipitation from his trek to the store, and if they planned on staying out in the stuff, Corby figured he’d need a waterproof spell before long. “I figure if any dementoids attack,” he said, picking up on their conversation from the room, “you can just run screaming like a little girl and I’ll save the day. Sales would go through the roof, Dennis would be happy, I’d be a hero!” With a superman-esque pose, he pushed his way out into the alley proper.

“And what’s wrong with the rain, Schlagenweit? Scared you’re gonna melt? You’re not that sweet, sweetheart!” With a jovial laugh, Corby ruffled Jacoba’s hair playfully before remembering most women didn’t enjoy their hair being messed with. Oops. “Hope you’re ready to get your arse handed to ya in some bumper cars. Loser buys the next round of drinks,”

"Why am I the screaming one?" Jacoba turned her head to gape at Corby with an exaggerated, feigned look of offense.  Aside, of course, for the perfectly perfect excuse Corby had already given.  It was hard to argue against a boom in record sales.  While he stood in superman-pose, Jacoba punched Corby lightly on the shoulder for good measure, the magically-incompetent witch grinned and turned forward once more. 

Unlike most of wizarding world counterparts, Jacoba hadn't shared the same deep-setted cultural fear of the hooded creatures.  Much in the same way she'd never shared the same doe-eyed fan-girl insanity when she'd first met Corby, Dennis and the rest of the band.  The Ministry pamphlets did a fine job of providing a clinical description of the hooded creatures but Jacoba didn't have any real basis for understanding what having your soul and all happiness sucked out of you meant.  Having never encountered, either directly or as a bystander, it had almost sounded ... goofy.  An observation she kept to herself though her ignorance was often evident in her reactions. 

Another reason she needed this outing with a friend willing to call the creatures dementoids.  "I'll just keep some death metal cued up, ready to blast them.  They can go head-to-head with Iron Maiden.  Then you'll have dramatic music for your heroic display."

"I'm not sugar, I'm a flower," Jacoba retorted, sighing and rolling her eyes at the state of her hair.  "I need sun to open up and blossom."  She lifted her arms skyward, spreading her fingers in a pantomime of a bloom opening."

“Hope you’re ready to get your arse handed to ya in some bumper cars. Loser buys the next round of drinks,”

"I'd like to see you try!" she taunted.  "You'll be bringing me my drink on a silver platter while your crumbled clown car stalls out in fear!  But, no magic.  Magic's cheating!"