outfit

It was perhaps her favorite eatery in all of the island of Britain. The aromas of fresh vegetables as they sizzled in giant pans over open flame, the steam rising from cauldrons of gourmet, seasonal soups, the desserts on their fountain-like trays... it was a woman’s dream, particularly a woman with a sensitive nose.

Equal parts rustic, minimal, and elegant, the restaurant was an ideal place to have a first... whatever this outing was. Semi-but-not-really-professional drink. Dinner? Dinner-drink. Not grossly fancy, but not cheap.

Juliette sat at the bar, leaning forth across handsome, exposed wood to grab the attention of the bartender under the intentionally dim light. Candles floated, not unlike those at Hogwarts feasts, but they were more symmetrical, spaced, and modern.

Upon ordering her drink, she swiveled in her chair, standing up and smoothing her tailored black dress. She left a generous tip on the bar top and fetched the thin glass goblet, carrying it over to the maître d' to find out whether any tables were available. It was just as well if there weren’t; she had, after all, specified to Landis that it was drinks to be had.

And drinks with Landis had been, as much as she loathed to say it aloud, a top priority after their laboratory performance gone awry. She could not stop thinking, in her more idle moments between classes, about the burns on his shoulders, the heat of his seemingly cold body, nor the... intimate adornments so very like her own.

Landis entered the restaurant in a rush of freezing air, eyes flicking over the diners in search of a familiar head of red hair. He was dressed smartly all in black, his blonde hair loose and shining against his cloak, but there was some color to his usually pale cheeks courtesy of the biting wind which had cut through even his most stringent warming charms.

Juliette was not the only one incapable of forgetting their latest encounter. He had also been thinking about her. How could he not be? The memory of slinking back to his rooms, scourgified shirt still filthy, hair wild, skin reddened with healing burns from a potions explosion that had kept him to early dim-eyed morning with cleaning...  he'd either looked thoroughly debauched or like an air raid victim. He'd managed to not think about her as his burns faded over the next few days, helped along by the salve, save for at meal times where they sat side by side at the staff table and Landis carefully did not notice how the pink blush around her shoulders and arms was fading too. When she wore her hair up, once, there was not a trace of red creeping out along the nape of her neck.

Of course, a few days later the damn woman had the audacity to wear his shirt to classes. It was so clearly a man's shirt, all masculine dark pinstripes and stiff collar, and so clearly not hers that Landis had nearly had a fit of indignant rage right there at breakfast table. And he'd seethed all day, catching glimpses of her so often that it could only be deliberate, her red hair curling over the too-large shoulders and catching the light. The fact that she made it look better than he ever had only irritated him further.

But irritated as he was by her coy glances and flagrant display of .... whatever that had been, it hadn't kept him from accepting her offer of drinks. Landis may have been many things, but in denial wasn't one of them. He was intrigued by her, as much intrigued as he was aggravated. And every time he thought he might strangle her, so vastly irksome was she proving, his mind would go abruptly back to the night of the explosion. He would see her again, pale skin against flaming hair, and usually after that it proved very... difficult, to continue being irked.

Now, his gaze swept over the bar and finding it bereft of a certain Potions mistress moved on to the seating area. Seeing her standing there, glass in hand and perk profile turned towards the maître d', he began to walk her way, side-stepping the pesky hostess with a faint sneer and a dismissive hand waved in Juliette's direction. He took off his cloak as he walked, and by the time he'd reached her it was folded over one arm. He flashed her a brief smile in greeting and a murmured, "Good evening,"  before glancing in the maître d's direction, but whatever conversation they'd been having seemed to be concluded. So he looked back to Juliette again, one blonde eyebrow raised as if to say, what's it to be?

Drawing her wan, powder blue gaze from the waiter’s station, Juliette found Landis as he crossed the room toward her, all blue-blooded facade and suave black swathings and an air of wintry mint. She returned his smile, a comical edge to her own as she evaluated him-- he was dashing, to be sure, and his confident entrance (the plain disregard for the hostess) proved silently hilarious and very Landis-esque.

She was pleased to have prodded him into joining her.

“Bonjour,” she greeted, grabbing each of his shoulders lightly, and planting kisses on each of his cheeks in one fluid, catlike moment of grace. While this was customary for the redhead, she took a private, selfish pleasure in greeting Landis in such a way-- her lips against his fading burns, veiled in a maddeningly innocent tradition. “I know I said drinks, but the menu is to die for... are you hungry?” She tilted her head, eyeing him now, taking her own turn for wordless evaluations. “An appetizers or dessert, at least. Wine is always better with food.”

And wine always treated a full stomach with gentle intoxication. Drinking on empty was not something Juliette liked to do, particularly in present company, when she wished to hold her own.

Deciding to flag the staff for table even before her colleague (mmhmm) could form an opinion, Juliette swept off to a cozier area in the back of the smartly lit restaurant. Plopping down in a half-moon sort of booth around a cozy, candled table, she flicked her wrist at her hair, readjusting herself. Suddenly her hands disappeared beneath the table, and surfaced again with something wrapped in sheer white tissue paper.

“Your shirt,” she explained. “Dry cleaned and ironed.” By the elves, of course. She slid it to Landis, though her smile was somewhat nostalgic, somewhat of a pout. “I’d rather hoped to keep it. It’s very comfortable-- you men are lucky, you know. Such classic and simple pieces. No silly trends. But I didn’t want to wake up to find my quarters on fire... that look you gave me at breakfast,” she drawled, shaking her head gingerly, clicking her tongue inaudibly in a sort of noiseless tsk. “So sensitive.”

Ah, yes. Unnecessary touching - another reason to dislike the French. He didn't mind it terribly much now of course, and what man would, coming from Juliette? But there were all manner of people Landis would not normally want touching him, and whatever did the French do during cold season? It was simply impractical.

Still, he kept his surprise to a blink and allowed her to invade his person under guise of cultural habit all she wished. This time.

He blinked again when she went straight from her directed question to snagging a table without waiting for an answer, but he followed on her heels easily enough with just the slightest hesitation to allow himself a striking view of her in the booth waiting for him. She was quite beautiful, wasn't she, and with an intelligence to use that beauty for what she willed. Manipulative as a viper - but, thinking of Analiza, Landis supposed that ran in the family.

Already she was attempting to get him off guard. Landis slid into the booth and then glanced over to see his shirt, wrapped and cleaned and smelling of something suspiciously girly. He accepted it and laid it beside him with his cloak, all without altering his expression of carefully crafted boredom (with a hint of mild interest) or looking away as she spoke.

"I'm afraid you'll have to resort to ordinary means of procuring clothing just like everyone else," he said with a one-shouldered shrug, his gaze flickering momentarily to the approaching waiter. "Oh, but you women pull these things off so much better. I'm sure if anyone asks my glares of murderous rage were only intense jealousy and not indicative of any desire to set my fellow staff member's quarters ablaze. Now," he finished, as the server stepped promptly up to their table with a wine list. "Red or white?"

Oh, yes. He was going to enjoy this.

Masking any mild disappointment at not being able to throw him off balance with her faux innocence and affectedly demure greeting, she swayed toward the table, taking the lead in the dance that would become Getting Under Landis Morgan’s Skin.

(Well, she’d done that, really, after that first night in the laboratory, but it had been a messy situation at best.)

She watched his approach, every hair in place, slim figure unassuming but assertive-- as if to draw eyes and be invisible all at once. It was a rare quality in people. Particularly (though she needn’t say it aloud) people so gorgeous as the flaxen-haired, wan and sleepy-eyed librarian.

But, ah, that expression. It was the shirt that did it. There was really no visible change in his practiced countenance: that was exactly the point. She was getting to him... Juliette’s plush mouth made use of its muscles, curling in beneath her pert nose, suppressing a smirk of cool delight. Even if he wasn’t going to offer to let her keep it, she was certain she’d be able to undo a button or two of Landis’ self-architected aura.

“Mmm.” She nodded in sad agreement. “But you could at least tell me where you bought it-- who tailored it? I’ll just find an identical one...” Cheeky enough. So long as they didn’t end up wearing them on the same day.

Lips parting again, the young woman flashed her pearly whites and laughed. The waiter reached the table before Juliette could offer up an answer, and she drew her eyes calculatingly from her cynical colleague to politely confused server who hovered by, clearly betraying himself as nervous for having interrupted some private joke.

“Don’t you just want to force feed him Shrinking Solution and put him in your pocket?” She asked the waiter, completely ignoring Landis’ question. “He can be the witty little devil on your shoulder in times of distress...”

Then, in a carrying whisper of fire-tongued French, she ordered for the both of them, gesturing vaguely with one pale finger to the wine selection.

Looking back to Landis, finally, she offered a close-lipped smile, like a docile date, some fawn-like creature men chose for the express reason of being able to call the shots. Or stemware.

Juliette's lips curved into a delighted little smirk, and Landis tilted his head ever-so-slightly in query - but she answered him soon enough with a request for the name of his tailor. But he was on to her now, and replied with as smooth as glass, "Surely you have a little more originality than that," with nary a raised eyebrow or a slow blink. My, but this woman was a challenge. It was a nice change of pace to find someone who was.

“Don’t you just want to force feed him Shrinking Solution and put him in your pocket? He can be the witty little devil on your shoulder in times of distress...”

Merlin, he hoped she meant the waiter... no, probably not. Landis made a very interesting face then, one which was deliberately intended for Juliette to miss, turned so engagingly as she was away to order. And of course, this was a Potions Mistress speaking, which added the uneasy weight of possibility to her laughing remark. Landis tried to squash his instinctive paranoia.

"Please don't, Ms. Vaillancourt," he said. "I assure you, any wit I possess is yours to harness should you find yourself in need of it. Without the necessity of rendering me... pocket-sized." He paused, eyes flicking over the smiling, attentive face she turned back to him as though suspicious of deception. "A good year," he offered dryly, referring to the choice she'd rattled off in rapid French. So she'd pegged him for a red... well, she was right.

“Surely,” she echoed, emphasizing the word, mocking herself. Or pretending to. The witchy smile remained in tact, and she let him decide whether she was serious or not. (Though her tone obviously gave it away). As for her originality, well, Landis would simply have to wait. Juliette might have been forthright about some things, and not at all shy about others, but there were bits of herself she liked to keep... shrouded.

Speaking of...

“But your proportions work splendidly for my jewelry. I didn’t feel it all day...” She looked down at the crevice below her neck, the fitted black sweeping dangerously over winter white endowments. She caught his eye again. “But it must be a little tighter on you...”

Juliette wished for a camera. As luck would have it, her purse held only her money, lipstick, and a vial of perfume to dab behind the ears. Shame, that.

So enamored was she with Landis’ strange, unguarded expression, that she hardly heard his words, the fluid and unchanged tone with which he spoke the words ‘pocket-sized.’ When ears caught up, her blue eyes widened just a bit, and she broke into another smile. “We’ll at least have a few drinks before I consider it. Your tolerance would be no fun if you could fit in my palm. A house-elf would be better a drinking companion.”

He approved of her taste, as she did of his, and the waiter did not waste time in bringing the selection to their table. He poured two mouthfuls into each of their glasses. Juliette gave hers a swirl, a ginger sniff, and a sip to taste. It lingered on her tongue like a marinade of the gods. Her light eyelashes fluttered shut and she nodded softly, opening them again. “Perfect.”

“But your proportions work splendidly for my jewelry. I didn’t feel it all day...But it must be a little tighter on you...”

Landis looked dour. "Lovely," he said blankly, his tone as even as the flat press of one hand against the tablecloth and about as revealing. A lesser man might have scowled. It had been too much to hope for that she'd forget, he supposed. The warm crinkling of the skin around her eyes and the curve of her mouth spoke to her pleasure at calling him out on this, but his own jewelry was meant to be a private thing, nothing for her to bring up in restaurants to laugh at the scandal. He was so entrenched in his dark displeasure that he almost managed not to think of her matching article. "I have no trouble with it - the benefit of a well-tailored wardrobe." But then, to everyone's surprise, Landis tilted his head to the side and smiled, the sweep of hair sliding off his shoulders subtlety distracting from the glint in his eye. The warmth of the expression changed his entire face. "Of course," he continued, "It is such a pleasant coincidence that the my shirt should prove so accommodating to your particular needs. I'd almost wonder if you planned it that way."

Partially lowered eyes, drawl of lurking lazy humor, and the way he looked over at her... it was all very suspicious. It was even more eerie when one considered how very much like his attitude was to hers, his warmth the same sort of act as her brightly coy one. Landis dubbed this his "society mode," more suited to charming and disarming society matrons than anything real, and as seldom as he engaged in it, it seemed a worthy response to Vaillancourt's own. Fight fire with fire, and all that rubbish.

His smile didn't so much as twitch, much less falter. "Oh, I doubt it," he said. "I would match you in this as in all things, regardless of my size. But likely you would find me an amusing drunk, should I fail, so either way it's to your satisfaction."

The wine came, a fine vintage. Landis did not allow such tempting snatches as his own lashes falling languidly shut in appreciation, but his eyes did fall ruminatively towards the table as he sipped. Then the quick flash of his blue gaze back to hers in attentive display as befitting this new attitude, one hand toying with the stem of his glass as though in revealingly absent-minded habit. In reality, his mind was terribly present, and this demonstrative fidget was as much of an act as anything else.

“Oh, come on,” she prodded, hoping to get more than single-word answer. But if Landis wasn’t going to take the hint, Juliette had few qualms being the blunter of them. “When did you get yours? And why? Does our little fair-headed librarian have a kinky side?”

To match his scathing cheekbones and I’ll-kill-you-if-you-enter-the-Restricted-Section side.

Truth be told, she was secretly pleased to have discovered such a... private... common interest. She’d never really taken the time to get to know most of her colleagues outside of work, save a drink or two... but not in this way. With Landis, it was somehow different. She’d already seen him half-naked and burnt.

“Oh, my wardrobe is perfectly tailored,” she countered, amused. “But women, we... well, we have certain assets you haven’t, and our undergarments are pesky little devils, aren’t they? Even I can’t unhook some of them any better than a sixteen-year-old boy, and I’ve been doing it for ages.”

And then his face changed. Subtle, but significant. Juliette was taken aback, but if it showed anywhere, it was her mouth. Her lips parted just barely, her hands flexed a bit, clenching and letting loose, like a breath.

“If I told you it was a plan, it would spoil the... plan.” She grinned, finally taking command of her face once more. “But don’t think you’ll know where to look if half your wardrobe suddenly goes missing,” she warned. “It’s the elves who are in charge of keeping your things together.” And Juliette would be damned to let him pick the locks of her quarters. “I don’t think you’d mind suffering shirtless for a day or two, would you?”

His promise-- the pretty arrogance-- only heightened her interest. “Match me then,” she said simply, raising an imaginary glass toward his, in lieu of the of the bottle which had yet to come.


When it did arrive, Juliette enjoyed the first plunge, like sticking one’s toes into a lake and watching it ripple on a sticky summer day. “Do you think Graham Bombay would be terribly wounded if he knew we hadn't invited him?” She asked, tilting her head as she sipped idly. “I suppose this doesn't do me any favors in dispelling rumors of my... career... But I thought I owed you at least a bottle for all of your assistance in the lab. Twice.”

"Mm, I don't think I'll be telling you that particular story." It was inappropriate for a colleague - but more importantly, because it was rather embarrassing. Oh, nothing so cliché as getting smashed and then waking up with a brand new decoration, but not much better. Maybe worse, because he'd been sober. No, he didn't think he'd be sharing that story with Vaillancourt.

She surprised him into a laugh. The poor sweet girl - she had no idea. What a loaded question. So in return he raised a brow and said smilingly, "If I did, I'd hardly be likely to share it with you."

"What a fascinating insight." He laughed again, a soft pleasant sound that softened the potential sting of his words and turned them from sarcastic to teasing. "Speaking as one who was once a sixteen-year-old boy, I can't imagine your undergarments present too much of a challenge when it comes to accommodation."

He regarded her, warm little smirk playing about his lips, and enjoyed the subtle signs of surprise. Oh, yes, that was lovely, and the night wasn't even close to being over.

"Oh, I would mind," he said. "And I'm hardly about to steal - oh, I'm sorry, borrow - any of yours to replace my missing clothing. Best if you just keep to your own closet. House elves are easily bribed, and now that I know you're after my accoutrements who knows what sort of nasty surprises I'll have prepared."

With a full glass, he was able to match her in actuality. Landis took a sip, counting on his bigger size and muscle mass to not just match but surpass her. If need be - he didn't particularly like getting drunk in public. Surprise, surprise. But wouldn't it be entertaining to see her drunk? The thought made him smile faintly over the lip of his glass.

"I can say with all honesty that I am glad he is not here. Were he I'm afraid I'd probably be obligated to defend your honor or something equally disgusting to appease the judgmental diners while he tried to get his hand up your dress." And, "Speaking of my twice-committed assistance in the lab, along with my brief suffered fate at the hands of tiny fledgling brats, I'd like to talk to you about favors. Or, more to the point, the repaying of such." This time, his smile was a little sharper.

Juliette pouted, but leveled back in her seat, shoulders rounding gracefully, neck white and graceful as a swan’s, wildfire hair trapping itself between the back of her throat and the cushiony-but-chic upholstery of the rounded booth. It was a story she would have to pry out of him another time. Like, perhaps, after a bottle of wine.

Piercings in private places, kinky affections for cuffs, chains, knives... one never really knew, did they?

“You must have been quite the libertine at sixteen, then. Unless we’re counting magic, I’ve yet to find a very smooth way of peeling off an underwire and hooks and still looking charming in the process...”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But they were having a nice, friendly, professional (ahem) banter. Besides, bras were like French braids and itchy spots of skin: it was always easier to help someone else.

“...and now that I know you're after my accoutrements who knows what sort of nasty surprises I'll have prepared.”

She tilted her head, soaking up his threat while her tongue soaked the lingering aroma of the rich red they shared. “You forget my easy access to explosive substances so soon, Landis...”

"I can say with all honesty that I am glad he is not here. Were he I'm afraid I'd probably be obligated to defend your honor or something equally disgusting to appease the judgmental diners while he tried to get his hand up your dress."

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass in cheer, and drowning the last drops. She waved her wand, and the bottle poured a soft stream like a spring fountain of fermented grapes, a virgin sight to human eyes should such a wonder exist. “Except the part about his hands on my thighs and... nether regions. He’s not really my type, Bombay. But I don’t doubt his green thumbs for one minute. I hear he’s very talented.”

As for Landis equating the verbal defense of Juliette’s honor to something disgusting, well... she wasn’t going to win over his camaraderie all at once. Granted, he was a bit confusing on this evening. His social graces were breaking from their cold cocoon, bit the snippy remarks were still full speed ahead.

Juliette leaned forward, tilting her chin down, rolling her eyes up. She stared searingly, and yet, with provoking nonchalance straight into Landis Morgan’s somnolent, glacial eyes. “Pleasure first. Then business. I think we established the day we met that I don’t like bickering while I eat. It makes me very... testy.”

Even if this was wine, not coffee. And even if she’d invited him for a glass. Under the pretense of settling a score. All in good time...

And it was all a lie. In truth, Juliette was a workaholic when she threw herself into it. She hated leaving things undone; she’d brew elixirs straight through the bed hour and on to dawn if it meant reaching victory. But what was victory, really? This tendency of hers was one of the deciding factors in the sudden, sharp shift in her career path. Working with children might bring out a different side. At least it would be less... isolating. A different kind of wilderness.



One bottle was replaced by another, the empty banishing itself from their table, the fresh (but well-aged) flagon appearing in its place. Juliette, whose fingers were anything but clumsy, fumbled only momentarily in removing the cork. A frothy fog of swirling, clashing temperatures escaped the mouth, and she smiled delightedly. The chilly-but-warm brew toasted her spirits... and her reflexes.

Two glasses into their second selection, and things were only becoming easier: bleary, milder, more like summer.

“You have try this--” She said, digging her fork into the tiramisu. “The cocoa is from Belgium. And the espresso...” She waved the forkful of spongy, fragrant cake at Landis, tempting... attempting to tempt?... him with the coffee-and-rum dessert. “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask the waiter,” she admitted, no qualms about it, and pulled back the fork like a cat’s playful paw. She took the mouthful, closed her lips into a devilish purse, and chewed slowly. She swallowed, followed it with a dash of wine, and added, “You seem like more of a vanilla boy. Shame...”

Juliette was not the only one finding things a little easier, the corners on the world a little less sharp. Landis was by no means drunk, but he was much warmer now, and much more relaxed. His suit jacket had long since joined his cloak and the returned shirt in neatly folded piles on an unattended portion of their circular booth, and he had even thought - briefly, before sanity had returned - about loosening his tie. The bright party act had faded into something more genuine; there was warmth in his smile and a comfortable nonchalance to the way he pushed his hair off his face or let it fall, unbothered. His elbows on the table or the lazily attentive tilt of his head spoke to a more lax aesthetic than his usual, but his hands as he reached for his glass were steady, steadier than hers. The sight of her brief but noticeable fumble at the cork of the new bottle gave him the additional warmth of satisfaction. It was such a nice feeling, and such a nice night, that he'd nearly forgotten about the Shirt Incident. And the Exploding Potions Incident. And the Setting-Wild-Children-Free-In-My-Library Incident.

Nearly, but not quite. Landis still had plans for that.

He regarded the fork being waved at him with no small amount of amusement, unable to disassociate the motion from that of parents trying to get their toddlers to eat. That Vaillancourt was crooning at him about the origins of its chocolate and not making train noises was little help; the mental image he was getting was really quite bizarre.

"I will, then," Landis said, thankful that she'd withdrawn the morsel instead of insisting that he eat it off her fork. He speared the corner of her tiramisu and ate it, laughter evident in his tone as he said, "Yes, delicious." His own dessert was proffered with an incline of his head and the elegant sweep of a hand towards his plate. He had no doubt she'd take him up on it - even if he hadn't just stolen some of hers, even if it hadn't been cheesecake, the thing was entirely made of chocolate. It was absurdly rich, decadently creamy, went fantastically with the wine, and was therefore irresistible. "I cannot praise its virtues quite so eloquently as you, but..." A shrug. "I'd say it speaks for itself."

Barely had he offered that his tastes were questioned, and Landis looked down at the half-eaten dessert. "I hardly think vanilla would suit this wine so well," he said mildly. A blonde eyebrow quirked. "Unless, of course, you are not talking of dessert at all. Should I be insulted?"

She was too tipsy to be sardonically amused-- Juliette was genuinely, almost sweetly humored by Landis' softened edges, his willingness to do her bidding... to have his cake, and eat hers, too. It was strange and vaguely exhilarating to see such a sober-faced man laughing, let alone an academic colleague whose current reputation in the teenage whirlwind of a rumor-mill had been slightly sullied by strange scars and untrustworthy women donning suspiciously familiar button-ups.

Leaning forward again, she set down her fork and stared at him quite plainly. "You haven't even had the best part... Act II is when it gets good-- you start choking on the cocoa, and you have to order more wine. Of course." She leaned back again, smugly but chicly, and lifted a brow.

"Well, if you're offering chocolate, no... it's not an insult. But between you and me..." She wrinkled her nose and smiled impishly, picking up her fork again. "It most definitely was."

Sliding her fork into the chocolate, nearly entangling it with his own, she lifted it gingerly from the superb display and pushed the richness toward her lips. But she paused when it was an inch or so from her mouth. "I'm not one to worry about these frivolous things, but if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to turn me into an elephant so I couldn't fit into your precious library anymore." Then, with a positively self-confident and delighted expression, she savored the bite. Perfect. "But life's too short to accuse your coworkers of trying to have you sacked... I mean, you don't want my job that badly, do you?"

Landis' eyebrows rose. "Perhaps you only need practice," he pointed out. "I have never in my life choked on cocoa powder."

Then his expression smoothed as the redhead admitted to her cattish little barb, eyes narrowing and lips quirking up in a smile ... altogether an intently, darkly amused - and therefore frightening - expression.

"As fitting as your own insubstantial, spongy little treat, isn't it?" he asked, the lilt of his round Welsh vowels rolling into one long purr.

"But life's too short to accuse your coworkers of trying to have you sacked... I mean, you don't want my job that badly, do you?"

"Of course not," said Landis, who definitely did. "But now I think we ought to talk of favors returned. I did my professional duty with your little brats - now it's time you did yours. I need something really unpleasant to assign as detention, and resorting books just doesn't have the same kick as manually scouring cauldrons." He took a long sip of his wine, rolling the flavor on his tongue for a moment before speaking again. "Surely you have need of some guinea pigs to help sort out that whole tainted ingredients mess..."

Not to mention that the student he had in mind would particularly enjoy a detention with the well-endowed potions mistress. That was, after all, part of the deal between he and Knight, and a bargain he could easily keep. After all, she owed him.

Even (albeit undetectably) tipsy, Landis was relentlessly streamlined, effortlessly in control of himself. At least to anyone watching. Juliette only narrowed her eyes, then shrugged away her suspicion with a quirk of her light brows. "Then you've never had real tiramisu," she stated simply. It was a fact. "But Landis, why do you make even dessert sound like such a chore? Choking is all part of the fun, you strange, strange man."

Really, she'd like to see him in a 'casual' situation in which he... well, brought out the Casual Landis. But if his vaguely softened edges were any indication, this might have been as far as he was willing to go.

He'd need some good training. Training to do away with all of that training.

It was not without a frown that she herself succumbed, of course. Had she really expected him to forget? No. In truth, she was more than a little thrilled to have strung him along all the way through dessert. To have postponed their business discussions. To poke and prod him, woo him out of that jacket with a little wine. Not because she was seducing him, but because she wanted to see if she could.

"I give your miscreants the Triwizard Tournament of detentions, and I give you your last bit of pay and another cut of our leftover stock, and we're even," she finalized, straightening up, sobering her voice for a moment, eying him without blinking. It was not a question. She was informing him. The seal to their deal. If only she knew what she was getting herself into... but Juliette, woozy with wine, did not ask the names of the underage offenders.

She finished her dessert in another bite or two, and waved down a most-obliging-waiter-indeed. "My newly rich friend here insists on paying for my gluttony," she explained, lashes fluttering demurely against the apples of her cheeks, chin rising with hope and amusement. The lie poured like wine from her lips. She leaned forward a bit, sharing a carrying secret with the slightly-nervous young man. "Gentlemen do all sorts of chivalrous things when you lure them with chocolate."

Sitting back, she sipped her wine, smiling over the brim at Landis, whose eyes the waiter was now perceptibly avoiding. "He's a big... tipper." But then she reached blindly for her purse, finding it with surprising dexterity given her state, and plucked the gold coins. "Shame we won't let him rise to the occasion tonight."

A promise was a promise, and so Juliette paid for their drinks and dessert.

-----

Stepping into the night, the redhead wrapped her coat more tightly around her. "I'll marry the first man who skirts the Hogwarts Apparation laws," she confessed, looking over her shoulder in an attempt to find Landis. "You can't imagine trekking up that lawn in these shoes." She smiled a witchy smile, crossing one arm over her coat and using the back of her free palm to stifle a tiny yawn. "Or can you?"