With very nearly all the guilt and petulance of the juvenilecaught and brought to heel, Rick stood at the flap of the entrance, his scowl dark and thunderous as he took in the effing gaggle of people in his tent, crowding up the already limited space he had with their hormone soup and the limbs they were still growing into and their general unwanted presence. Shona, who stood behind him, had a hand on his shoulder in a firm, cheerful grip, and a slice of cake in her other.

She was also, by all appearances, the only thing keeping him from rage-quitting the entire thing right then and there, which was just dandy.

“Nuh uh,” she squeezed his shoulder, nails briefly digging into the meat before letting go, and gave it one last, sisterly clap before shoving at it– him– further inside. Rick’s expression soured even further; it was like being slapped with a sweaty gym sock. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But,” said Rick, glowering at one pair of– fifth years? Sixth years? Whatever –as they looked him over with rapt, wide-eyed stares. They were all looking at him now, most of them, that the buzz of conversation (–loud and unrestrained, heavily threaded with laughter–) had swiftly, noticeably, trickled to a low, chittering murmur, complete with glances that felt like pokes to the face. It was awful.

“Nope,” said Shona cheerfully, shoving at him again, but for the most part she appeared content to stay at the entrance, shifting on her feet until she was firmly in front of it. She shooed him, “Go on, I want to see this.”

Rick’s lips thinned, brows dropping even lower. But a moment later, he was turning around, albeit for the sole purpose of facing the rest of the room with an angry, rippling hint of a snarl.

Unfortunately, they were too quick. Instead of properly cowering– like they should have– no less than three pressed forward. He jerked back before he could stop himself. “Alex said-”

Alex. Rick’s eyes snapped towards the Ravenclaw, immediately picking her out of the throng gathered around his desk—even though, in fact, they were blocking her from his very sight. He fucking called it.

Eyes locked on the teenager, Rick pulled himself together. “Don’t care,” he said, shouldering past them. “Get out.”

The kid’s mouth dropped. Distantly he was aware of a sudden, disapproving frown; he ignored it. “Out, all of you,” he barked, striding towards the group, taking the marginal path hastily cleared for him. “If I don’t turn around and see you bunch—Alex.”

Students skittered away. The only one who stayed, he saw (and noted irritably), was Whitman. The boy half-sat on the edge of the desk, idly twisting the hexadecagonal Rubik’s cube that had been repurposed on a whim, a vaguely amused smile on his face. Rick didn’t need to look around to see the display case empty with its absence. “Get off,” he said pleasantly.

The boy only smiled at him, condescending as he tossed it back. Rick snarled at him as he went past. God, he hated that kid.

“Not a word,” he said, turning on Alex with a look. It was not a nice look. “Not a word.”

She blinked at him, infuriatingly, placidly innocent. “What, I got you loads of interest in your business.”

“The wrong kind of business!”

There was a sigh, soft and swooning, from somewhere inside the tent. (From whom, Rick didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.) “I’m sure you could persuade them to be interested in multiple different types of business,” she said sweetly, and as he flushed a deep, mortified red, there was a muffled snort of laughter.

“Five points to Ravenclaw,” said Shona, still snickering as she came up to stand beside them because she was a terrible influence. “And cake, courtesy of our Alohomocha representative.” With a flourish and a smile, she handed it over and beamed, indulgent, as the girl’s expression lit up.

Turning on Rick, she reached up and ruffled his hair, expertly ruining what he had spent twenty minutes perfecting. “Suck it up already,” she said, giving it a warning tug before drawing away, heading back to the entrance. And then, when she was just about to disappear from sight: “stay.”

Rick rushed towards the flap and shoved his head outside. “Dog jokes, Shona?” he snapped. “Really?”

She only turned around enough to smirk at him over a shoulder. For a moment, her eyes seemed to—expand, flash, suddenly brighter even from a distance. And then she was gone.

His jaw tightening, Rick dove back into the tent.

There were still, amazingly, some left. But it was a lot less crowded, now, that he could see his displays again, and those who stayed didn’t look completely hopeless. “Alright,” he said, striding forward until he was glaring Alex out of her seat. But instead of taking it, he perched himself at the front of the desk, glowering at them all over the fold of his arms. Sleeves bunched threateningly. “Now that I can breathe again…” For someone who could, he didn’t look too happy about it. “I’m Donovan, owner of the eponymous Donovan’s Commissions, Wares & Repairs on 342 South. Some of you may have heard of me– maybe I’ve worked for your parents –or maybe you’ve been to the shop.” Recently or prior. “Either way…

“I’m an Artificer.” Eyes narrowing, he looked around, scanning the crowd for any sign of incomprehension. “You guys do know what that is, don’t you?”

All around them were hints, shining examples of his work displayed around the room. Along the walls, throughout the area—on craftsman ironwrought stands, strung from the rafters of the second floor (which was more or less a balcony snaking along the wall), or simply hanging in midair, propelled by enchantment or their own mechanics, they were everywhere. Made from bronze and steel – cogs, wires, springs tightly, inhumanly wound and joints made from the most delicate of handling – rare metals mined from the feet of volcanoes, scavenged from black, crushing depths – molded into shape by both hand and magic. In one corner, reaching into the very peak of the tent—a church organ, smaller than usual but undeniably tall, graced with more levers and pedals than a mere wizard would know what to do with. In another—a terrarium of purely metal plants, gleaming burnished gold and moonlight silver, fiery copper and solid iron– centered around a single sun, which hovered silently at the heart of a floating cage. Elsewhere, a sleek, clockwork jaguar rested its head on its paws, completely still save for the periodic swish of its tail. Fish swam in the air in motley schools, now venturing the lower levels of the tent to peer at the students, inquisitive.

But it would be up to them, Rick knew, to show him that they knew what he meant.

Cadance had no real use for the Career Fair. She had already been sentenced to a life of a mundane homebody, fit for caretaking, child rearing and hosting asinine cocktail parties with all the other pampered wives of the Pureblood Hierarchy.  If she was lucky enough to escape her fate she had no intention of settling into a Career either. She had no real plans aside from getting out. Once she accomplished that she could figure out the rest.

However the Career Fair did provide a unique opportunity and that was to see Donovan again. Ever since the Sixth Year Charms class had visited his shop Cadance had been afflicted with a certain, desire, for lack of a better word. He was everything she was raised to despise. He was foreign, rough, uncouth and to top it off he surely wasn't a pureblood.  All that just proved to be more attractive to her than she ever thought it could have been. She never thought that she'd be into the whole Bad Boy thing, having Xavier as her cousin and close confidante had certainly shown how much she didn't like that side of men but there was just something different about this one. Perhaps it was because he was a man and not a boy. Cadance herself was barely a woman but she would be Seventeen at the end of the summer and then she'd be worthy of any man - if she wasn't already so infuriatingly betrothed to someone else.

She kept to the sidelines when he had his little temper tantrum about students being in his booth. She resisted a scowl at watching him with Professor Donovan. It was interesting that all the qualities she found desirable in Rick only served to make her dislike the Professor even more. She watched intently as he spoke with Theo and Alex. She wasn't close with either of them and cursed herself for what a missed opportunity their friendship could have been in this instance. When he finally settled down she moved herself forward.

Cadance wore her usually altered (but still within dress code) uniform. A fitted forest green and black lace corset over a white silk blouse, her house tie over top and a pencil line skirt that stopped just an inch about her knees. Today she wore a pair of simple black pumps shined to perfection instead of her usual designer boost. Her golden hair was crowned with a braid that let the rest of the waves hang down her back and out of her face. Her hands were folded in front of her waist as her ice blue eyes turned to him.

"An Artificer is a craftsman, an artist, sometimes an inventor. Someone who is able to make incredible things that most people could only dream of." She turned her eyes to those perfect examples of such around the booth, "I think it's safe to assume you've made most of these."

"I've no bloody idea and I work for the guy" he said to some bloke next to him, loud enough for Rick to hear. He gave a shit-eating grin and practically preened as he gave a mock military salute to his boss. And landlord, he guessed. Except that implied having to pay him. Which, actually he guessed he did. His paycheck said so. He scowled, his kipper giving an ungraceful grimace.

He'd woken up late. And some bell-end then decided he and his mates were going to be on the pop later tonight, so he'd had to haggle for his best bottle of vodka. He'd made a good knut out of it at least. But the point was, he'd missed the cocknobber and he had been late in welcoming him Kinsey style. And by that he meant he'd promised some fifth years girls he'd get them five seconds with his employer. There was still time. After. But, meanwhile, he was going to milk this cow for all it was worth and make up for the months of slaving in his shop.

"He's dreamy... Does he ever smile tho?" Phillip cackled loudly and turned to wag his eyebrows at the girl, ending on a sleazy yet charming wink. "Oy, Mister Donovan" he snorted obviously. "The dinky dink lass here would like a smile. Are you going to disappoint yer audience like that? Tha'd just be a shame wouldn't it" he said with a dramatic sigh and gabe Rick his best grin, outrageously amused at the entire situation. Oh this was going to be savage.

Rick met Phillip’s salute with a glare– he’d figured as much, if the Gryffindor’s obnoxious squawking about the plants and fish and occasional (but controlled) explosion were anything to go by, thanks –but he relaxed as the icy-looking girl gave her answer... somewhat. She got a suspicious squint, but there was nothing actually wrong with what she said, so he gave her a brisk nod, too. “All of them, actually,” he replied, turning away. “The important thing is combine form and function. Purpose and aesthetic. Without either, all you’ve got is a sculpture, or another tool–”

Phillip got a dead-eyed look of pure murder for that interruption. “No,” said Rick evenly, after a pointed glance at the NO STUPID QUESTIONS sign hanging above him, and that was that.

“As I was saying...” The wizard looked looked around, eyeballing the lot of them. He released a disgruntled snort. “Artifice is the bridge between them. It’s a craft. You don’t just make shit–” There was a giggle or two; he ignored it. “You create. A first Artifact of its kind is what earns it the distinction.

“So, yes and no. We are inventors, just as much as we’re craftsmen and artists. Sometimes we’re mechanics, technicians, and architects. I myself take on commissions, to create something new or alter whatever’s been given to me, but I also fix and maintain things that a simple reparo just won’t do. A colleague of mine, Torquil Foley—he’s worked with cursebreakers and the Weasleys.”

Rick looked at them all and sighed. It was now or never. “Any questions?”

Normally, Lucrezia would've stayed holed up in her private laboratory during this, so far, atrocious and quite pitiful day. But with all the agitation and despite her best efforts at sound-proofing charms, all her determined attempts towards research had proved futile. So it was with a rather bad mood and an even worse temper that she had eventually ventured into the Great Hall. Insofar, most booths proved if not obnoxious as a class of first years, at least a complete waste of time—both hers and the students'. And that said much, as the Potions Mistress could count the number of students she recognized the existence of on one hand.

Some might say she might have been lurking–she would've used silent observation and an arched, quizzical eyebrow–when she spotted Whitman around the entrance of a tent. With arms crossed and an expression devoid of any emotion, she approached him quietly and without bothering to actually catch his attention, stopped right next to him. "Anything caught your eye?" she asked almost musingly, without truly expecting a reply as she moved on to enter the tent.

An artificer of sorts, she deduced from the set-up and exposed objects. Just her luck, of course, Kinsey would be here and running that ludicrous, intelligible mouth of his. With a few stealthy steps she stopped right behind him, just as the artificer had shut him down. Proper job. But upon looking closer, Ezia's eyebrows drew at the middle in... confusion? This man looked like he belonged in a street brawl. If even that. Her opinion was quickly reinforced upon witnessing his impressive vocabulary. Impressive indeed... And such high praise for his own craft. She couldn't help the disbelieving arch of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and just the tiniest hint of a snort.

"And what knowledge and instruction, may I ask, are necessary for a profession with such an astounding array of–hmmm–descriptors , Mister..."

"D–Donovan" came a whimper from directly in front of her, unfortunately immediately recognized as Kinsey, whom had finally noticed her presence and subsequently turned meek and gulping. Without moving her head for a fraction she merely lowered her gaze to at least acknowledge his presence. The dimwit–albeit a talented dimwit–looked away. She wondered if Phillip Kinsey could count as a successful classical conditioning experiment... She supposed she could always start actively training him, if not. Food for thought.

"Mister Donovan" she added, as her her eyes returned upon him, with a barely there sort of smile and an even less noticeable nod of her head.

Rick’s eyes snapped towards the new speaker, gaze sharp and unfriendly. And it stayed that way, after he found her, because although they clearly never met before, he was already on edge; the friendliest faces in the room right now were, for a given value of ‘friendly’, two teenage shits intent on making the day a painful one.

Still, like the girl’s question, he couldn’t find anything abjectly wrong with it either. “Charms, mostly,” he replied, looking at her. “But aside from final enchantments, their effects are usually indirect. Transfiguration helps, but in most cases– other than conjuration– it’s just inadvisable.” The thing about transfiguration was that it was rarely ever meant for permanence; you changed something, then changed it back. That didn’t fly in this profession. “Stability’s important, so at a lot of key points magic is used sparingly.” Dropping eye contact, he passed it up to look at random kids in the eye—fleetingly, but pointed. “Elsewise they cancel each other out, or worse.” Like tangle. Picking apart enchantments was both a lot like and worse than disentangling hairs; you couldn’t just Accio them out.

Which... led to another point. “Same goes for Potions—to make solutions and so forth, but if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing you could blow yourself up just as easily.” Rick’s features sharply pulled into a grin. “Actually, there are a lot of ways you can fuck up. So what we end up doing is a lot of things the manual way. Smithing, for metalwork—especially if you want to get fancy with materials, a lot of them can be as volatile as runespoor venom. Jewel making, glassblowing, basic engineering—it depends on what you’re making, usually.

“In general, though, you need…” Rick’s brow furrowed. The US had different exams– or at least, names for their exams –but as a whole they pretty much correlated with the UK’s standards. Still, when he had moved to London, he’d taken their licensing exam, too. “At least three NEWTs, with an ‘O’ in Arithmancy, Runes and Charms, and an OWL in Potions of ‘E’ or higher to just take the exam. Transfiguration and even Alchemy are helpful–” the latter more so than the former, in terms of capability as well as cost efficiency “–but can be outsourced, though you should have a rudimentary understanding of ‘em even if that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Leaning back, he surveyed his audience– or rather, those who were paying attention– until pale green eyes found Alex and a hand beckoned her over. When she neared, a broad cart wheeled over, gait careful and smooth. It brought with it a number of things, they could see: a veritable hamster maze of tawny metal and glass; a vat of steaming liquid, whose color churned between shades of orange; a set of metal rods, each one of varying length and size; and an unfinished skeleton of metallic sinews, hunched over and back open. Beside it was a rack of slanting bowls, each one bearing a different kind of cog. “Alex here is going to demonstrate some techniques and practical application of them.”

He slanted her a smirk, “if you would?”

Cadance hung on his every word, taking it all in. With her hands folded over her lap she was stock still and unmoving. If it weren't for the occasional blink and the soft movement of her chest with each breath, she was the image of a perfectly sculpted porcelain doll. She closed her eyes with a long intake of breath when Kinsey tried to make Donovan smile for a pair of simpering fifth years. It had taken all of her resolve not to roll her eyes. The ghost of a smile touched her lips when he said she had been correct, mostly, but faded almost as quickly when she heard the Potion Mistress' voice.

Professor Di Luca was a hard to like woman. She was brilliant in her craft and had been one of the best Potions Professors she had ever had but the woman was cruel and had no hint of any lady like courtesies. She was happy to note that Donovan didn't rise to the jab the Professor had made about his profession and continued on with answering her question. Cadance mentally checked off her own abilities against his list of requirements surprised to discover that she was excelling in nearly all the subjects he had mentioned. Her course load (much like everything else in her life) had been picked for her to give her the skills needed for a good Wizarding Wife. It was good to note she could actually put those skills to use if she managed her freedom.

"Hogwarts doesn't teach Alchemy." Cadance spoke softly and simply. She was wondering if that would cause a rise out of the Potions Mistress. It was true that there wasn't any subject devoted solely to Alchemy but it was so often intwixed with potion making.

A small flicker of jealousy twinkled in her ice blue eyes when he called upon Alex, though it was gone so quickly it was likely to have gone unnoticed. She watched just as intently as she listened. It would do good to appear interested after all.

Since the number of visitors to Balfour’s booth had increased, Alex had left him to deal with those who were genuinely interested in pursuing a career in the Department of Magical Creatures. Not that she thought that many of the attendees were, there were those who were completely undecided, those who were using the career fair as a source of entertainment, and those who were attracted to the booth because of Balfour’s terrible taste in trousers.

Rick’s booth had also attracted a gathering, not entirely because of his ludicrously ostentatious display. But since she wasn’t there for personal conversation, it didn’t matter, and she remained behind the booth even after Rick’s return, slowly eating the sublime lemon cake she had so thoughtfully been given. Rick’s sisters weren’t nearly as awful as he made out, although they were certainly formidable.

Cadance’s arrival was unexpected, with the amount of physical exertion involved in artificing, there was no way that the Slytherin would deem it a suitable career for a pureblood woman. A ridiculous notion, but then, she was frequently a ridiculous person, so fettered by her nonsensical rules about what was appropriate for a woman to do that she was entirely uninteresting to be around. Except to aggravate, of course. The other visitors were far more welcome, at least to her. Rick’s frustration really should have given her a hint of what he was planning, as he liked to do this at the shop, too, but she was distracted. The lemon cake was really very excellent. The elder Blackwell was a master of his craft, if as troubled in temperament as his younger sibling.

She still had some cake left. Giving it to Rick was out of the question, and she couldn’t eat it all in one bite unless she wanted to look like a hamster. The best option, if she wanted to have all the cake, was to proceed with the demonstration one-handed. This was clearly unfeasible, especially so as she hadn’t been aware she was supposed to make a presentation until a few minutes previous. Her employer really had a gift for vindictive action, it was quite remarkable.

“Theo?” Alex asked, wrapping the cake in the napkin and handing it over with a smile. She brushed her hands together once, turning to look at what she’d so kindly been given to work with as she tied her hair back. “R – Donovan talked about the magical aspect of artificing, but there’s a lot more that’s highly mathematical and involves good spatial awareness. And of course, the practical application of knowledge is essential.”

The assembled gathering were of varying levels of intelligence, but aside from that a good grasp of mechanics was a specialised area and unless one had a personal interest in the area, a dull one. It would be best to talk as little as possible, and focus on using the equipment she’d been given as effectively as possible. Still, she would need to talk as she worked – and she did. Others might perform poorly under pressure, but it had never been an issue, instead driving her to work harder in order to do as well as possible.

It was only a few minutes, although it had felt like longer to Alex, trying to explain what she was doing and why as she did it without her audience understanding several key principles. She had every confidence in her abilities, but under such strained conditions it was impossible to check anything or do proper calculations. She'd worked on something similar over Easter, but...

But now she had finished, the glass apparatus augmented with several additional metal rods and topped what was unmistakeably an egg, even if the surface was fragmented and not entirely round, and she lifted the flask of orange liquid to carefully pouring some of it into a funnel, “this is why it is imperative to avoid errors.” She stepped smartly back, and as she did so, a jet of steam issued from within the glass rods and into the crowd, not lasting long enough to do serious damage before it dissipated.

“But if you do it right,” she stepped forward again, turning one wheel and then another, biting her lip as she tried not to think of all the things that could so easily have gone wrong; the first part of the demonstration had been far simpler than this. The rest of the liquid was added, and it bubbled through the glass rods, ending in the flask under the egg. There was a pause, and then the egg began to open, wings unfurling and a tail emerging as the head lifted upwards until it was facing skywards, unmistakeably a dragon with wings spread wide. In the silence, there was a quiet whirring and then the mouth opened, a tiny fireball bursting upwards until it fizzled into nonexistence three feet above the contraption.

Alex’s smile was confident, even as her shoulders slowly eased, looking to see Rick’s reaction rather than that of the crowd.

Rick didn’t even glance Cadance’s way. Rather, he folded his arms again, smirk still curling his lips as her classmate made her way to the front. By all intents and appearances her own expression was as cool as a cucumber, visibly unruffled when others would be flustered, but Rick knew he’d caught her off-guard.

It wasn’t kind of him, he knew– petty, even, one of his sisters might say –nor was it particularly safe, there were a lot of things that could go wrong, if neither of them were careful, but—it only went to show you couldn’t prepare for everything. His job wasn’t like that. Short of contriving a ticking bomb or a collapsing house, this was one of the few ways he could teach her. The kid had to learn.

And, a little payback never hurt anyone, either.

And so he watched. Behind the smug, peaceful smirk Rick watched Alex at work, noting the steely straightness of her posture and the steadiness of her hands. Fluid pumped through the pipes, spurred on by both magic and physics. Though he could barely view the proceedings (behind her though he was), the artificer could see fine wires connect, responding like living hair, and gears slot into place likes pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Behind a skin of metal, invisible to everyone but them, a virtual heartbeat whirred to life. Something began to take shape.

And then it did. In a smooth, liquid movement, the egg unfolded, giving way to a spartan but unmistakable likeness of a Norwegian Ridgeback, complete with flaring wings.

As the small blast of fire dissipated into thin air, Rick smiled—not smirk, but smiled. Vindictiveness forgotten, something sincere, proud, warmed his eyes, and he let it stay there when Alex looked to him expectantly, going so far as to offer her a slight bow of his head. And if everything about it was still smug? Well, at least it was smug because he’d known she could do it.

Once the murmurs of amazement and the smattering of applause died down, Rick pushed off from the edge of the desk, moving to the front of the car (but not so much that he’d block the miniature– and apprentice– from sight). “And there’s that,” he agreed, stretching out an arm to let the dragon climb onto. Although tiny pinpricks of claws threatened to poke through his sleeve, he let it clamber up the limb and settle on a broad shoulder before tucking his hands beneath his arms again. He glanced at the Ravenclaw, quirking her a tiny lift of his brows in an invite to join him up front. “Actually, they’re the most important to know. Your grades mean exactly shit if you don’t even know basic math.”

“Now–” The line of his shoulders loosened slightly, with the confidence of knowing that his audience was well impressed. “Thoughts? Questions?”

As hands went up, he bit back a smirk.

With pursed lips and head tilted slightly to the side Cadance watched Alex's demonstration and despite herself she was actually . . . impressed. The girl worked her magic well and with deft hands created something new and unique, something that hadn't been there before. It wasn't like standard forms of magic, like transfiguration or conjuring. This was something entirely different. She hadn't even used her wand. She had simply gone to work. Cadance admired it. Both the dedication and show of her craft but also the result. A part of her envied Alex for being able to do such a thing. So many of her peers thought her to be boring and just as archaic as the customs she upheld. None of them were aware of just how much she longed to be as free as they were. She would give anything to be in Alex's shoes at the moment and it wasn't even entirely about the smile Rick was giving her.

She had been amoungst those in the crowd that applauded. It would have been rude not to do so but she didn't carry on or whistle or hoot like some others had. She simply showed her admiration of the show they had been given. When Rick asked if there were any thoughts or questions Cadance found herself at a loss for words. She couldn't say what she was actually thinking, she rarely if ever could. She wasn't sure if any praise given to Alex would be taken at face value or shrugged off and dismissed. She couldn't think of  a singularly good question that didn't make her sound like a simpering idiot, something she was rather eager to avoid.

The crowd around her was more than sufficient to fill in the silence she had found herself in. She barely paid any notice to their own questions or comments as she was trying to formulate something of her own. She almost wished she wasn't surrounded by so many of her peers. Had she been on her own with the artificer she may have been able to truly speak her mind. After all Rick was likely to think of her the same way as many of her fellow students, a stuck up backwards thinking traditionalist who carried on about what was proper. He wouldn't take kindly to a young woman who seemed stuck in the 1800s, she was almost certain of that. But then what could she say that would catch his attention while not altogether breaking her facade (but also not perpetuating it) She was not fond of the situation she was in.

"Do you have a specialty? Are there things you're better at making than others?"