5 January 2012
Thursday @9pm
Crudgley's Always Open

Crudgley's is a cramped muggle convenience store in London. It defies category and, apparently modern standards of tidiness. Flickering florescent lights, mismatched and missing linoleum tiles, shelves packed tightly with tins, jars, and brightly colored cartons from all corners of the world. It is, as so named, (nearly) always open. Figaro had discovered it on his way home from work late one night. He liked the east Asian shelf. Hard-cooked quail eggs in a can , sweet and slimy aloe drink, and individually wrapped chocolate pies that came with punch-out cardboard toys.

A pair of 19-year-olds were poking slowly through the cluttered aisles of the nearly empty store pulling items off the shelf to snicker at the awkward off-brand labels. The boy was blonde and his coat wasn't the right kind for this time of year. The other, shorter girl had long dark hair and could have passed for fifteen if she didn't have the air of someone far more comfortable with herself. By looking at them, no muggle would suspect they were strange.

"Oh, he's a right git. Absolutely looney. He's ancient and I don't understand how he's lasted that long. He has to have had multiple heart-attacks by now. Right? Every time he goes I think, *pop*...!"

Figaro spoke easily of the editor of the Daily Prophet Barnabas Cuffe, a known tyrant and an influencer on several upper levels of wizarding society. Figaro from his bottom rung at the newspaper had been 'fortunate' enough to become known by the man. It had made work hellish for a period of time, but it was worth it. It had been a rough summer, rougher autumn and so far winter was a trial. But with Sophie Flickwick returning from the aether, things were looking up. It felt both ages and yesterday that they'd been shooting the shit and goofing off.

"It's good though. Got loads to do all the time, it's smack in Diagon, I make enough for my own place. Had to convince everyone that I wasn't going to blab their business to the reporters," he laughed. "I don't know how many times I had to tell people that I'm about as important there as folding chair."

There was nothing in Fig's affect that seemed actually at all self-effacing or downtrodden about his chosen profession.

Sophie couldn't help but regard the blonde fondly, brown eyes warm every time they glanced at him from the shelves of odds and ends that would have seemed perfectly at home in Diagon. save the Muggle-tastic graphics. It might have been more than six months since she and the boisterous former Huffle were in the same place but it felt like all of six minutes given how easily they fell back into their friendship.

It might have struck her as funny how easy it was to just be with him after all this time given their history, but it made her so happy you'd never know she'd broken his nose once in an honest to Merlin brawl or that she'd routinely screeched at him like a banshee for being a complete git and running his mouth when he shouldn't. They were very far removed from the temperamental fifteen-year-olds they had been... and yet some things were very much still the same.

She snickered at his description of his boss, shaking her head over how much it sounded like he could have been talking about one of their old professors but happy nonetheless that he was finding his place in the world. She had spent most of their last year at Hogwarts buried in books and trying to decide what to do with herself only to throw her hands up in the air and decide singing backup for her dad's band wasn't the worst way to spend the summer.

Then summer had turned into Fall and Fall to Winter and before she knew it she'd been on the road for six months with hardly an owl back to London. Of course, like most things she did, it'd taken her the long way 'round to realize the things that really mattered to her were right where she'd left them. Seeing the world from a tour bus was nice enough but she hadn't felt as much herself anywhere else on the planet as she did standing in a crumbling convenience store talking to Figaro Sellaphix.

"He sounds like a nightmare, good to see having a second edition Storm hasn't dampened your spirits any," she bumped his shoulder with her own before picking a package of what appeared to be bee larva off the shelf and peering carefully at the smattering of English words mixed with characters she couldn't read, "I've seen these before! They were in a vending machine in Tokyo, right next to canned bread and above kitty coin purses."

"Aw, bee larva, I want some," Figaro whined and took a pack. He'd try anything once. Even cheese in a can - American muggles had canned orange cheese pased with a squirt nozzle. It was a bizarre delivery system but not entirely repulsive if you just pretended it wasn't cheese. And hey, Crudgley's had three flavors.

Figaro craned his neck to make sure they were far enough in the labyrinth that Mrs. Crudgley (?) couldn't see them and then used his wand to quietly open the package. Inside the cardboard was a plastic bag. Inside that were small dried maggots with little brown heads. He pulled out a pinchful and gave them a sniff.

"So, tell me everything. Tour and summer and everything. If you told me already at the party, sorry; I Obliviated myself on Virgil's tequila."

He popped the bee larva in his mouth and gave them a good crunch. "Salty. Tastes like bacon."

Fig held the box out to Sophie. "I'm going to pay for it," he assured her.

She watched with a grin as he opened up the bag and popped a pinch in his mouth - she should have known the boy who'd eat a Billywig Stinger wouldn't turn his nose up at bee larva. Obviously not to be outdone she took a few herself (something she had not done in Toyko) and chewed on them carefully. They were crunchy and a little weird but not altogether unpleasant, they reminded her of the roasted aunts her Abuelita had fed her on their stopover in New York.

Snickering she gave a shrug of her shoulders and shake of her head, nose wrinkling, "I honestly don't remember what I told anyone at that party. I vaguely, barely, remember Raine making a joke about you and Moira dating and then talking 'bout a cat?" She wasn't digging but she'd be lying to everyone including herself if she tried to say she wasn't curious about what exactly was going on with those two.

Wandering a little further down the aisle, hands shoved in her back pockets she tried to find a way to sum up six months in as few sentences as possible. "I've gone on tour with them before but it's different when you're working. We played shows everywhere - I even got to sing for my mom's family and Ruby while we were in the States!" She'd stopped moving by this point, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly excited, "But the best part was having the days to myself. I played some open mics at Muggle places where no one knew me and it made me want to come home and try here too. You know, on the real grind kind of thing, not relying on my dad or his connections. Does that sound weird?"

"We're just friends," he answered almost automatically when Sophie brought up Moira. He said it with an annoyed shrug and then looked back down into the pack for more bees larvas. They were good. He took another pack off the shelf and tucked it under his arm.

"Not weird. Sounds incredible. Sounds like, you know, something you'd do. Everyone else trotting off to get important Ministry jobs." He trotted his fingers in the air as they moved further down the aisle. He had to step around a puddle.

"You should do it. Play at Old Brick, open mic at Spellpunk," he stopped and snorted at an awkwardly shaped mascot on some sort of Australian candy. It was almost a kangaroo. "Starlight Theatre has acts. Play the tube, blow some muggle minds. People will think you're an orphan and you'll get loads of tips."

Oh, tiny Sophie with the angry fists and the mighty voice.

Sophie peered at him carefully, lips drawn together, "Yeah that sounds totally believable and not at all like there is a story there to tell. Maybe you have learned to keep your mouth shut," she wasn't completely sure that he'd get the last bit was a joke and not her taking a dig at him, or rather she worried that he was so annoyed about whatever was happening with Moira it'd taint his sense of humor about it. Fig didn't typically get upset with people and it was hard to imagine what would have him bent out of shape about the quietest person the two loudest people had ever met.

Her cheeks flushed a little at what she was fairly sure was a compliment, brown eyes cast down for a moment, "I knew the Ministry wasn't for me. I spent all that time studying for the NEWTs and now it feels a little like I'm not bothering to use any of it," she scuffed the toe of her sneaker against a haphazard tile, "You really think I should though? I started writing songs. I mean real ones about stuff. I haven't played them for anyone though. Feels weird and too personal," she grinned at him, "but maybe strangers on the tube would be better than people I know. Strangers never ask for explanations."

Chewing the corner of her lip she eyed him from under thick lashes, trying to choose her words carefully, "How's everything else though? Your mum and Frank? Your dad's home now isn't he?" She was asking because she wanted to know, she wanted to know that things were good but she also understood family news was tricky and they weren't exactly known for talking about serious things.

Figaro narrowed his eyes and made a noise in his throat.

Sophie wasn't going to let the Moira thing drop. He could understand why. I mean, of everyone he knew he was the most fascinating cosmopolitan socialite. That, and he and Sophie had, for most of their time at Hogwarts, butted into each others' life in excruciating detail. But not Moira. Not now. Because anything to do with Mo had everything to do with everything and dead muggles and angry Bagnolds and Cinead Tawse's and yup. Nope. Not now.[1]

She was waffling about following her dreams, however, and Figaro couldn't condone that. "No! You have to do it! If I've learned one thing lately is that it's not possible to manage what everyone thinks of you. You just have to be honest and go with your gut. Be brave. Literally, what else can you possibly do short of felony-level mind-control spells?"

Since when did Figaro give people advice. First Sasha[2] and now Sophie? It felt strange, like a starfish.

"But yea! Dad's back!" Figaro lit up and pointed a finger at her, still crunchin' on bugs as they made their way around to an endcap near the bathrooms. More puddles.

"Yeah, early release or something. It's great. I came home from work one day and he was just there. He'd cleaned my flat and then I got him drunk. And mum's happy."

1.	The Cold Moon disaster and all the drama that goes with it.
2.	25 Nov 2011 - Mind the Perfume Counter

Sophie held her hands up in surrender at the noise of protest he formed in his throat. She wasn't going to push but there was a niggling feeling of worry in the back of her mind. It had to be something... bad for him not to want to talk about it at all - something worse than just a falling out or unreciprocated feelings. Those were things she was still pretty sure he'd tell her without a second thought so whatever this was was worse. She felt the urge to remind him to keep his nose clean and stay safe but after basically vanishing off the face of the planet for six months she knew she didn't exactly have the right to insert her bossy boots back into his life like that.

A slow grin formed itself on her lips as he gave her a Sophiesque speech about following dreams and being brave, it was a reversal of roles but not a bad one. It was nice to know she had someone in her corner who thought she could do it and didn't think it was insane that she wanted to do it on her own in her own way. It wasn't pragmatic, wanting to avoid using the doors being Duncan Flickwick's daughter could have opened for her but if she were going to make it she wanted to know she'd done it through merit and not nepotism.

Bumping his shoulder she rolled her eyes a little, "Okay Life Coach Sellaphix - but I expect you to be front row at my first open mic with a sign that says I heart Sophie." Watching his face light up as he talked about his dad made her heart happy and without really thinking she wrapped both her arms around one of his and gave it a tight squeeze, placing a quick friendly kiss on his cheek, making a small happy little squeal as she did, "I can't tell you how good it is to be home and to see you again. Not to be all gross and mushy but I kind of missed your face on the other side of the world."

"Psh! Of course I'll be there."

Figaro easily accepted the affection. It felt easy and natural just to be messing about without any plans. His only regret was how much catching up there was to do, and that feeling of having to choose what to tell. She was asking most of the questions which told him she was being choosy as well. I mean, a world tour with Mandrake Siren, um, there was no way that was uneventful.

"Aw, you missed me?" he teased and pulled her into a side hug. "You've gone soft, Flickwick."

He'd missed her, too. He snagged a yellow package off a shelf.

"Here. Help you soldier on through the hard times."

Fig Newtons.

She just grinned and shrugged, "Yeah, probably. I mean we've spent at least twenty minutes together and I haven't thought about punching you in the nose once. S'weird feelin mate." Their relationship had been equal parts contention and affection while at Hogwarts. She'd broken his nose at least once and while she would stand by the fact he deserved it there was something to be said for growing as humans in a direction that didn't involve tiny fists of fury every time she got frustrated with him.

She actually cackled when he haded over the package of Fig Newtons, "Would you believe I devoured these on the regular when we were Stateside? Totally reminded me of you, very Figgy," she pinched his cheek playfully between two fingers, jiggling the skin a little. "Admit it, your life was terribly boring without me to screech at you like a banshee and huck apples at your head  wasn't it?"

If she were being honest it had been longer than just six months that she'd missed him. Most of seventh year she'd been terribly detached from the world around her, trying to sort out what came next when everyone else seemed so sure of what they were doing. She'd felt downright defective but that feeling was finally fading

Figaro thought to himself that had Sophie been around these last few months, she'd have had multiple opportunities to pop him one or few for being daft. Lying his way onto Level Two, being a twit with Raine, almost getting fired, getting sort of arrested, not exactly being the dutiful son when his mum was ill, skipping all precautions and running down a Runespoor lead on a full moon... Not saying that having Sophie around would have necessarily helped anything. As much fun as they had, they didn't exactly bring out the best in each other.

Draping his arm over her shoulder, "didn't you stab Bevans with a fork?"[1]

1.	It was actually Heliotrope LeJean - 20 Oct 2009 - Secrets, Scars, and Wild Hairs

"That wasn't me," her tone was absolutely indignant as she lightly nudged his side, a tiny hand coming to rest around his wrist as she shook her head, "it was a wee first year I believe - which might actually be worse than an ex-girlfriend and the smallest witch in all of our year breaking your nose" she paused peering at him, "twice, wasn't it?" Blimey, she could be a volatile little thing, and Fig brought it out in her worse than anyone. It was a problem but she also wasn't sixteen anymore. Three years could do a lot for someone.

Still, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind... whether it was acutely tied to Sight or just a general feeling of knowing who and how Figaro was she found herself leaning in a little closer, "you really would tell me if something was going on, wouldn't you? I mean..." she didn't exactly frown but there was genuine concern evident on her usually impish features, "if something happened to you..." she didn't quite know how to finish that sentence because she didn't actually know what she'd do if something were to happen to him but she knew she didn't like the way her stomach felt thinking about it.

They'd ended up at the freezer with all the ice cream treats. The windows were all fogged up so Figaro had to crack to the door to see what the brightly colored packages were.

"Oh, loads has happened. Crikey, Soph. It has been an eventful few months," he said conversationally. "Things have occurred."

He shut the freezer, disinterested in the frost-burned squeaky non-dairy treats with melted gumball faces. He crossed his arms and shrugged.

"You just got back. Things are good now. Well..." At the last word he went high pitched and tipped his head. "Right, there's a thing I can't talk about on pain of death or something, but neh."

He waved his hand to erase that last bit.

"You just got back. Okay, okay. One. I'll tell you a good one. I'm over it, and it's hilarious."

Figaro proceeded to tell Sophie about how during his first months at the Daily Prophet he got it in his head that he'd make an excuse to bug Fauna Blake during her Auror training and get some information about some nutty thing that had gone on in Keswick. He told Sophie about how Fauna had been On Brand and immediately misunderstood his meaning and before he knew it he was being properly cowed in the office of Solomon Carstairs, head of the MLE.

"It's the most painful interview on record. He was toying with me. Savage!"

By then Figaro had a raspberry lollipop in his mouth turning his tongue blue.

He went on to describe how Carstairs just breezes out to owl Barnabas Cuffe knowing exactly the fate that would await Figaro upon return to headquarters. But the worst part - the worst part - was ...

"And then I may or may not have said something about Raine Almasy's aunt? You know," Figaro actually sobered for a moment, "Ira Almasy."

He continued. "I wouldn't say I deserved it, but she did hex me in the balls. With fire."

Figaro wasn't sore about it anymore, and this was as close as he had ever come to remorse. "Madam Nagde did see my puppies, and I did nearly get fired, and I really did like those trousers."[1]

1.	10 Aug 2012 - Okay, Spill

"That's not what I-" but before she could finish he was carrying on with a story that was completely in line with every single thing she had ever known about him and completely off base from where she was going. Here she was trying to talk serious and he was being his usual flippant self.

The problem was he was so good at stories she forgot that she was worried about him and whatever secrets he was keeping because the way in which he described getting himself hauled before the head of MLE. In a way, the hilarious retelling of the event could have explained away the vague worrying knot in her stomach - almost getting himself arrested could be filed under something happening to him.

The icing on the cake though was Raine having hexed him with actual fire. She didn't want to double over laughing at him but at the phrase Madam Nagde did see my puppies she simply couldn't hold it in anymore. She held up one hand as the other wrapped around her middle and the giggles erupted from the depths of her tiny body, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain the reaction.

When she finally stopped laughing she looked up at him, dark eyes watering as she righted herself, "you know, I don't think I could have picked a better spot than the Prophet for you if I tried. I'd forgotten what an aces storyteller you actually are. You need to collect these anecdotes to go in a book when you're a famous reporter someday."

Any Attention was Good Attention, but someone laughing at his stories was better potion than anyone could brew. The fact that it was Sophie took it up a notch. They'd been adults less than a year but already there were tugs of nostalgia and hanging out with Sophie was just the right heartstring. If they were just kids at Hogwarts again there weren't these new difficult problems to worry about.

The front bell jingled to signal someone else coming in or going out of the store. Figaro quieted his own laughter long enough to pull the lolli out of his mouth and glance around a corner to see what was going on at the front of the shop. A time would come where they'll have overstayed their welcome and they'd have to go up and actually buy something. But not yet ...

"Nah."

Figaro appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn't totally sure he wanted to be a reporter. What he was sure of is that he was really enjoying there not being one more round of examinations around the corner. The future was right now and he could stop worrying about it.

"I mean, sure, maybe. Are you staying with your dad then? You here in London?"