The tourists who were plentiful this time of year occasionally threw her a glance, but most of them didn’t think to approach Gwendolyn Irving, whose dark sunglasses were as sturdy and uninviting in appearance as the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 at King’s Cross station. And should anyone ask if they had seen such a young woman, most of them would remember her sitting unassumingly, reading a copy of the Prophet on a newly painted bench. She had picked the red bench on purpose.

Her suspect had been easy to pinpoint after a week of studying several candidates. While what she knew of his behavior at work and home seemed normal enough for the profile she’d been given, it was, at times, almost too normal. Gwen knew the glossy smiles and firm handshakes had been practiced in his line of work.

It was how he wasted his free time that had raised her brows. He had taken the same train at the same late morning hour to Hogsmeade for a week. He neither lived nor worked in Hogsmeade, and if he had business here, why not apparate? He was a busy man. It would have saved him over an hour, from the town where the quidditch stadium of his employment was nestled.

It was the train that had brought her here, too, today. After she had Apparated from London to watch him leave his morning training session. It was clockwork; the man was efficient. Paranoid, even, despite the exterior.

Finding a seat a couple of rows behind him had been easy. And Gwen knew, as soon as the other man sat down, that their conversation was the reason for the lengthy bit of travel.

Thanks to the hour’s emptiness, it had been harder, not easier, to overhear. But Gwendolyn made her notes, nonetheless, and followed him stealthily out of the station and into town. The other man had remained, gone on to the next stop. He had worn the robes and countenance of someone who worked in entertainment or publicity, a sliminess to his hair and a sale’s pitch in his voice.

When her suspect stopped for lunch, sitting alone in the window, she knew it was best to stay outside. And so here she was now, on this red bench, watching from over the landscape of newsprint. Half an hour later, he was on the go again. Gwen noted the time and casually stuffed the paper away into a small black backpack. She kept a careful distance as she followed him down the road to Splinter and Kreek’s.

It was not strange for a quidditch player to pursue a broom shop, but one had to wonder why a man with access to the best of the best would favor the secondhand equipment sold here. Nostalgia? A collection? There were a few gems, antiques for collectors, but Gwen thought he had to have access to a better supply of those, too, as she stepped into the shop ten seconds after him and gave it a once-over. It looked nearly the same as it had when she was a teenager.

She shoved her sunglasses up on her head, ducked behind a particularly tall display of handle add-ons, and pretended to find interest in a small book section. But not before throwing out a general smile and tucking hair behind her ear to make it obvious she was listening to a mini Wireless (whose volume was currently muted). From here, she had a good view of the suspect and the staff member (the only one in the shop, it seemed). The witch was younger, with finger tips that looked gold from hours of polishing and restoring. The words “regulation brooms” floated toward her seemingly-occupied ears.

Erin was at work.  She had no idea how the proprietor managed to secure her services, but the gold had been deposited in her Gringotts account and she was there to see if she could not help the man sell some of his wares to female customers.  Or maybe she was there to help sell things to the male customers.  Erin did not really know or care about the particulars of it, but she was a professional, and would do what was asked of her.

He had asked her to come at a particular time, and she and her entire entourage showed up.  Since he had requested this job be done quickly, Erin was already dressed with the selected green keeper outfit replete with padded gloves, padded black trousers. and a form-fitting green shirt which was also padded.  Her hair was free flowing, and her make-up had already been made to look like she was not using any.  She would never actually dress like this at one of her regular quidditch matches, but Erin knew that she would not be playing today.

Though he did request some action shots, it was just of her merely throwing the quaffle, not doing any maneuvers above the ground.  The man said they were on a schedule, so without preamble she approached the clerk.

"Hi - I'm Erin.  I apologize for so blatantly interrupting, but the client is the proprietor and had a specific time he wanted me to be here.  I'm here for the photoshoot.  Did he have a particular background selected?  I realize he asked for this to be done in a hurry so I have prepped as much as I could elsewhere before port-keying in.  Sorry about the chaos, but it can't be helped," Erin explained hoping to get this over and done with.  She did not have anywhere to be particularly, but Erin followed the golden rule.  And that was he who has the gold makes the rules.

The man pointed her to another section of the shop.  Taking one look at it, Erin knew the lighting would not be sufficient.  She said as much to the clerk, and he pointed to an area just outside of the shop where she could use natural lighting with the store logo displayed.  After walking outside in front of the shop, She and a member of her entourage did some simple keeper drills which merely consisted of her catching hard quaffles.  A barrage of flashes during this confirmed that they did not need to do another take.  Erin was thankful for that, but also worried about that, since she was still young and could not be overtly choosy about which gigs to take.  She hoped the photographs turned out alright. 

They then proceeded to take the last set of photos which consisted of her throwing quaffles at the designated person.  They asked for speed and curve on the throws, and unlike most other models - Erin actually could to that since she could take time.  Another barrage of flashes confirmed that this shoot was over.  Erin smiled.  Assuming the photos came out good, this would definitely be a customer to keep. No nagging, no camera 'artist' saying it doesn't appeal to his artistic sense or whatever.  She had most of the rest of the day to herself now, so she figured now would be a good time to make a plan.  Or what passed for a plan in Erin's case.
The rest of her entourage port-keyed out, but Erin still had about ninety-minutes to spend as she wished.  Not really thinking much about it, she walked back into the shop to see if there was anything useful, and headed towards broom handles. 

"Wonder if these would help star-fish saves?" Erin thought aloud, then noticed someone else.  "Ooh- love the sunglasses.  You heard muggles sometimes politicize sunglasses?  I never knew sunglasses could be political.  I kinda want to see one, now that I think of it.  I wonder if they would start giving speeches or something," Erin commented to the random stranger, not really thinking about it too much one way or another.  As was typical for Miss Dark though, her trains of thought tended to derail and change directions easily.  "You play quidditch?" Erin asked, figuring that it was probably a safe assumption.

Gwendolyn almost turned around at the question. It wasn’t that she felt the need to answer so much as it was a human reflex that was hard to ignore when caught off guard, even for this Irving. But the unexpected was to be expected, and the young sleuth reminded herself in half an eye’s blink that she was supposed to be listening to the broadcast (presently muted), and thus unable to hear anything (but the conversation at the counter).

Her fingers resumed their browsing and her face remained trained at the display, eyes slipping carefully toward the clerk and the quidditch player. Not even a glance was spared for the random question asker. Surely the Wireless could speak for her.

And it was not as if Gwen’s heart was in a conversation on 'star fish saves.'

It might have been a quidditch shop, but Gwendolyn Irving looked like nothing if not a casual shopper, in cut off jeans and Wireless buds. She didn’t have the recognizable face of a pro, nor the air of knowing exactly what she wanted from this little shop. She was not her cousin; physical similarities aside, she hadn’t quite the same aura as Laney, nor the sun-kissed complexion. She looked more like someone who would slip underground than someone who wanted to launch herself into the sky. They were both balanced, slippery creatures, but for different reasons. Gwen was the wait-patiently-and-dissolve sort, Laney the slink-behind-and-pounce one.

If it was sometimes smartest to engage them a little, she hoped this one would take the hint.

But the other party had no plans to keep shuffling through the shop. It was the voice of the oblivious, chattery and childlike as more words spilled forth... and were now more obviously pointed at the witch.

Gwendolyn felt the familiar twinge of annoyance on her spine.

Her eyes narrowed, still on the man, and she weighed her options. He was thoroughly engaged in the conversation (the one on which she was losing focus, wasting energy ignoring a stranger). Gwen quite abruptly moved sideways, on purpose, brushing into the person in her peripheral, that asker-of-questions turned antagonist.

She made a show— again on purpose— of looking surprised and apologetic. One earbud was ceremoniously yanked out. She could feel the eyes of the man and clerk now on her, hear the pause in their conversation behind her as she stared at… a fifteen year old girl. Of course.

“Sorry,” she murmured, with a vague gesture at the display of broom accessories behind her. It seemed easier and more succint than thanking her for the compliment.  As Gwen appraised her, she waited for the pair behind her to settle, for that momentary tension to disappear. When it did, she let herself focus solely on the stranger for a moment— which is what they thought she was doing, anyway.

“Were you saying something?” She asked, giving the Wireless a shake for good measure.

She remembered each of the girl’s questions.

“I think I heard the word sunglasses...” She furrowed her brow in mock challenge, deciding that ignoring the girl wouldn’t make it any easier to hear what was going on a few feet away.

Gwen rolled toward the balls of her feet, stretching to peak over shelves and scan the aisles. Round, honeyed gaze landed on a wall of glasses (thank Merlin), blessedly halfway across the store. She pointed, plopping back onto her feet, and gave the girl a shrug and a close-mouthed smile. “That’s enough to keep anyone busy for hours.” One could hope. Even if the younger witch’s apparent attention span gave Gwen a sinking feeling.

Erin felt the woman brush into her, but paid it no mind.  After all, it was not like her attention span could actually get much smaller.  She was sure she had done far more dangerous things in her absent minded state, such as mixing wrong potions ingredients together.  Still, she apparently answered her question and pointed to a wall of sunglasses.

"Oh don't mind me, I say lots of things.  Some of them make sense, most of them don't.  I just try not to be unintentionally rude.  Not sure if I succeed or not though.  Huh.  Were you listening to that?  Didn't notice.  Whose playing?" Erin rambled, her thoughts and stream of consciousness making wide leaps and bounds.

As the young lady commented about sunglasses and pointed to a shelf though, Erin's train of thought once again changed directions.

"That's weird they carry so many sunglasses.  Most quidditch players prefer goggles.  Wonder why they have so many here?  Come to think of it, I'm surprised they did not ask me to model any of them as long as I was here.  I am set on eye protection, but it is good to know they've got them though, " Erin commented, before returning to browsing through the handles.  She actually did need some a new one.  Or rather after her last abysmal performance, she thought she needed something to improve her performance. 

"Too swishy.  Too much friction.  Too little friction.  Too rigid.  Violates regulations.  Oooh- dragon hide - wait nope.  Can't use that in Hogwarts.  Well not sure about the performance, but the color is right," Erin went though half a dozen  broom handles  before picking a green and silver one out. 

As Erin wondered whether this would actually be useful or not, Erin decided that the answer was probably not.  Her broom handled fine.  Why would she wan another one?  Did broom handles actually make the broom more handleable?  Or have easier turning?  Erin idly wondered if she would even need these for her position.  Like always though, Erin's attention was easily distracted.  She suddenly focused on a broom that seemed rather out of the ordinary. 

"Huh.  That broom," Erin commented, noticing something about it, and a few other ones besides.  Well, she did not have the budget to go splurge on a broom so she quashed the urge to ask for a test spin.  Still, her interest in the sport led her to skip over to where a number of brooms were displayed, ignoring the other person for the time being. 

"Interesting design choice.  Wonder why went with that?" Erin thought aloud.