eleven-something a.m.
Ground floor, front desk



With more than a little impatience (and a lot of worry dread tension), Rick waited for the kids to arrive, brows knitted into a frown. He was, for once, about to welcome a whole bunch of them into his shop, and now that it was about to happen…

Well, it was too late to regret things now. The elegant comtoise clock– a recent addition, which should have spared it from a sister’s touch but didn’t– ticked on, unsympathetic to his gloom. And every second that passed meant one more closer to their arrival, like grains in an hourglass.

(But only in a matter of speaking, because it didn’t actually tell time. Instead, it was one of those clocks, the kind that told where and how a person was, and this one had a long hand on ‘work’ and a short one on ‘freaking out’. Which, thanks, Shona.)

“It’s only a field trip, Rick,” a voice piped up from the massive shelf on his left, as cogs and the like hung still in the air, hovering patiently as they were organized. In a steady, almost constant flow they streamed into their boxes,inventoried taken note of and put away– offsetting a not-quite preoccupied tone. Distantly, Rick wondered– not for the first time– if all sisters were just a little bit Legilimens, though he knew better. Maybe. “I know,” he ground out, and, ugh, he sounded sulky even to his own ears. “It’s just…” He knew he’d been the one to agree with this in the first place, he just didn’t know why, anymore, and whatever he’d come up with seemed weak now, fake. “Are you sticking around?”

She popped up again, eyebrows raised high. Rick glowered at her. “Do you want me to?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious. Rick couldn’t decide if that was worse.

“Well…”

The last of the cogs returned to the shelf, and then she was there, at the counter. There was a smudge of dust on his nose. “You’ll be fine,” CeeCee patted his cheek, before moving away to collect her things. “And, trust me—if you have even a fraction of the fun–” She smirked, looking eerily like Shona for a second there, “–I think you’ll have, you’ll wish I wasn’t.”

Like that wasn’t ominous.

The clock suddenly chimed; another short hand had turned onto ‘late’. “Now I really gotta get going. Say hi to Alex and Phillip for me!” She leaned over the counter and pecked his cheek. “And don’t be too mean!”

Rick scowled, but found himself calling her back, “CeeCee–” He pointed to his own cheek when she turned around, looking at him expectantly.

Blinking, she wiped her cheek, and gave him another, even more brilliant smile as she backed through the door. The chimes jingled noisily behind her—and when even that was gone, there was only quiet.

It wouldn’t last long, of course. But for now– though it was a heavy kind of quiet, soured with waiting– Rick took it, used the last, sweet bits of it to breathe a soft, deep sigh that had him sinking back in his chair—and let his gaze roam the store, taking in the newly organized shelves and the merchandise that filled them. Even now, years after he hadn’t just bought the place, but made it, really made it his own –it never stopped filling him with a sense of contentment that went deep to his very bones. The shop was his, a space he could disappear into and lose himself in plans and blueprints and the steady whirring of gears, of joints slotting into place and steam hissing up to the rafters—letting in those who came with a discrimination most couldn’t afford.

Kids… Rick didn’t really like them, to be honest, unless they were related to him in some way, and he liked teenagers even less; they were, in his experience, usually snarky little shits. The brave ones came in and, more often than not, touched everything without any actual intent to buy, or asked coy, stupid questions that made him kick them out without even a shred of guilt. They were annoying, was the thing, and yet–

And yet.

Heaving another sigh, Rick pulled out yesterday’s Prophet and put up his feet on the counter, the paper rustling as he opened it up. Only when the door swung open again did it lower, until it was folded and shoved under the counter again. He didn’t paste on so much as a friendly smile as more people filed in, but it was a patient neutral rather than straight up unfriendly, and he rose from his seat to meet them, pale green eyes sharp as they scanned the assembled group. He eyed them warily whenever someone brushed too close to a display.

Moving on to the thin, pale figure in their midst, Rick went over to stand beside him. “Professor Kesali,” he greeted, with a slight nod; they knew each other through Dietrich, though not well, but as one professional he could stand to be polite. Turning his attention onto them– the students– again, the werewolf folded his arms, brows narrowing just a fraction in a long, measuring look. There were only a few he recognized; he’d let the Charms professor do the introductions.