About 10AM
Inside Luck of the Irish
The totally legitimate potion store and brewery
Opening times: When I damn well feel like it - When I got tonights drinking funds

"Well that is-" Lochlainn stopped himself, clearing his voice. It was still very soft and gentle, with a look down he could see his muscle was still forming back but was pretty much done. His hair had shortened back aswell. With him back half dressed except for feet and upper body, the rest in a set of acid washed blue jeans. "Well that-" He groaned and just went to his kitchen, pouring his morning coffee, only a hint of brandy in it, it was too early for drinking still. So it was only a quarter brandy. His voice was still too delicate then he wanted for now. Not to mention too French. It was too early to deal with this he reckoned.

With a pain in his ears, he pulled out the studs he didn't realize were still in his ears. With a sip of his coffee he sat in a half burnt chair that he definitely did not accidentally set on fire. "A successful polyjuice." He sighed, voice now returned to normal, a flick of his wand had his breakfast served to him from the frying pans and saucepans that hovered by the oven, a small breakfast of several sausages, bacon, beans and toast he had prepared to go before he left for his morning shop and newspaper run.

He was pretty sure he got some funny looks, especially with the accent on him, he'd have to hold off on buying ingredients for a few days, too many people suddenly asking for aconite was suspicious, but at the very least it takes pressure off of him for now. And it served as a great way to test batches of polyjuice. The other ingredients had purposes in other potions so those were fine, Aconite wasn't used in much though and was easier to track.

With a bite of toast he opened the Daily Prophet, surprisingly the person at the stand gave it for free, admittedly they looked flustered, he wasn't that aggressive was it? But they didn't look scared. Regardless he saved himself some money, and every little helps. Upon turning the page however he noticed a piece fall out. "Let me guess, an ad to get anti wrinkle cream for valentines." He mused while looking over it.

Looking at the Flier however he couldn't help but give out a laugh. "What sort of old git made this shite?" Its design was, so old looking. Was this made by someone who's face now resembled a dragons testicle? "Guy got angry a Werewolf drank him under the table now he's spewing this."

As sad as it was that people were dumb enough to do something like this, it did present good business to him. The two kidnapped the other day. The death of Alec Carter. Now this, things were coming up Lochlainn. He placed the paper down and with a swish of his wand had the flier pinned on his wall with other newspaper clippings on Werewolf attacks and news he thinks he can exploit.

With his breakfast almost completely untouched he stood, pulling a jacket and shoes onto him with another flick while he went to his brewing room. Several burners all lined up, cauldrons bubbling away as they brewed with some enchanted to stir. Cabinets full of ingredients all bursting with potential. Another cabinet filled with potions all labelled and ready to sell downstairs. And a secret compartment in one of the drawers for when he really wanted to start business.

"Now there's demand. Its time to supply." He said with a burner igniting, he carefully thumbed the page on a potions book, moving several different notes out the way so he could reach the page on potions invented by Damocles Belby...