Phil wasn't quite certain when exactly he got the idea. Somewhere between a cloak of Bedazzling spells, obliviations, alohamoras, and quietly perused racks of fine clothing he finally realized well yeah, he was that sappy little school girl who hated being alone on Valentines. The best way to go about fixing that, Phil figured, was to rob a fancy boutique and truss up all pretty.

Addie got him a viper last year, twisted in the shape of a heart and paralyzed. He'd hung it on a nail above his bed until she left -- well. Until he bodily threw her out. Addie had also crucio'd him over a bit of muggle drug. Maybe that was why Philomenes was going to see the woman he was.

Nate had once described his taste in ladies as 'suicidal'. It was a good assessment, from one glance at Addie Scrivener to the hazy eyed Slytherin girl he'd kept all seventh year who'd liked his burnt off finger stubs more than could be sane. And another who'd stormed into Borgin & Burkes and stabbed a pair of enchanted knitting needles through his hand.

So. 'Cannibal queen drug lord with a strange scar' didn't seem to out of the question for him.

Philomenes paused outside of Calaveras, examining himself in the stained black window. He looked like a ghost, pale as he was against the dark and the snow – and, best of all, not like a Phil at all.

He popped off the top hat and squinted at his significantly shorter pale hair, cropped cleanly above his ears, at the bits of silver glinting in his cartilage. The purple bags under his eyes had been banished by wandwork and poultices. When he smiled, the broken gap marring his front teeth was gone. Straight little white teeth, all lined up clean as a picket fence. He looked…

Nice.

How unbelievably weird.

Maybe Philomenes still wanted Addie, maybe he wanted drugs, maybe he wanted exert his stupidity a bit more than usual. Whatever nudged him through that door, its magic was working. Phil just hoped his would be working, too.

 The cocoa-skinned maitre-d’ saw him from across the plush interior, and she stalked over stiff as she ever did. She gave him a once over with eyes twinged in surprise. Phil took this as a good thing. A soft exchange of words under the soft brass roll, and she reluctantly nodded to a dark swathed table across the club.

Phil straightened his vest, straightened his hat, anxious as a girl before moving across the room. Having dinner, was she? He entertained the idea of her chewing on some boy who crossed her. He smiled, in that hazy private way of his.

Philomenes slinked himself across the table from Meredith, but didn’t dare take a seat. He dragged his fingertips along the polished wood of a chair.

“Good evening, Miss Renfield.” Phil’s voice was silk; he was pulling down on the veela charm hard, no bones about it. “Chewing on some terrible back-handed junkie, I presume?”

It was technically one of Meredith's "nights off." She had been taking more of those recently, trying to organize some sort of Spellpunk event at Hogwarts over Valentine's weekend. Should be good money and better advertising if she played her cards right. A lot was still in the air, but she was fairly certain she had the job- all she had to do was iron out the details. It was what Meredith did best.

So here she was, in Calaveras, not in her usual suit attire but still dressed up, her hair done up and lips painted as dark as the glass of cabernet she was swirling in her hand.

An ash tray lay slightly off the side with two still smoking butts pressed into it. The little bastards would kill her one day, Meredith knew that. But seeing how much more dangerous and addictive things she was in contact with on a regular basis and add it to her lifestyle, if she died of black lungs when she was 60, she'd be lucky. And if- heaven forbid- she ended up in Azkaban she could pass the time by focusing on quitting and maybe make whatever her sentence not a total wast of time.

Good evening, Miss Renfield.

Meredith looked up and got an eyeful of...well, well, well, was that her favorite little junkie?

"Hello Philomenes," Meredith said. She didn't even try and keep the surprise out of her voice. "This is...unexpected."

The entire look, not so much the dropping by. Meredith knew he had come by occasionally- like when he ran into her designer, Georgianne. Plus the little charmer was, after all, a junkie. Sporadic actions went with the territory.

But she certainly hadn't expected a haircut and a suit. A new one, too by the looks of it. Well done, Phil.

"Should I be worried that your appearance means you'll have less money to by candy?" Meredith asked, giving the man a faint smirk. "You look rather...presentable."

What she had thought about saying was 'dashing' or even 'handsome' but after her first meeting with Phil, Meredith knew to be cautious and (more or less) what to expect.

She put down her wine glass on the able and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked up and studied the man more fully as he spoke, only taking her eyes off him long enough to glance at the steak on the table with amusement. "Well...my chef's ability to work magic with any kind of meat always impresses," Meredith said wryly. "Why don't you have a seat, Philomenes and tell me what's your poison?"

She had to admit, he was making a sizable effort. She would have preferred an appointment if he asked for a new stock or just a simple note telling her more of the same amount of the stuff at the same price. Still the effort was appreciated. There might be hope for this one yet.

“Poison.”

Philomenes rolled the word on his tongue, like the taste of a foreign fruit. The warm hitch in his smile said that he liked the taste, too. He sank into the chair opposite Meredith, and cocked his head curiously as if he were listening to music.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Spindly fingers fluttered up the brim of his top hat and did away the jaunty thing, perching it on one of the brass spires looming from the back of the chair. The pair of blackened stubs marring his left hand couldn’t be charmed or transmorgiphied, but he was almost fond of them. They were still very Phil, while the rest of the costume wasn’t.

Pretty veela boy with the mangled paw, pretty cannibal princess with her face sewn up. How…cute. Ugh.

“I do hope I’m not catching you at an inconvenient time. It’s just that I…well.” Pale lashes fluttered down over those big grey eyes, set on Meredith’s. Philomenes leaned forward as he spoke, as if a gravitational force was tugging him closer.

“I’m not here on account of candy, Miss Renfield.”

His smile spread even further, slow and smooth and just rakishly lopsided enough to put those new teeth on display. A soft hint of fog floated around the corners of his vision, and the faint scent of sea breeze poked meekly about the table.

“Meredith."

Drugs, magical or muggle certainly had a way of making a person...stand out. It could alter their speech, their pose, their tiniest mannerisms. Sometimes this happened without the druggie even realizing it. But people like Phil, Meredith suspected, knew perfectly well how his pastime affected him and even tried to make it work for him. Meredith could appreciate that (it was about the only thing she could appreciate from an addict besides their money). She could also appreciate that Phil had made no attempts to hide his missing fingers. It was what it was little darlings. So get a bleeding eyeful.

Meredith leaned back in her chair ever so slightly as Phil sat down and leaned forward. She tilted her head, studying him in silence while he rambled on in disjointed sentences. She wasn't quite sure what was the point of following up her surname with her first, but she supposed in Phil's mind it made sense. My oh my, what a pretty stare he had. She did a quick once-over of his pupils- see if they were noticeably dilated.

"Yes," she said after he seemed to have finished (for now). "You may call me Meredith or Ms. Renfield. So this is a social visit then, Philomenes? You certainly dressed the part can you really pay for your outfit and dinner? I suppose you could just sit for a time, thaw out some of that winter air from those bones. You are in luck- technically it is my night off."

So far he had been good on payments. She didn't have to buy him dinner but she could humor him for a time, she supposed.

That bell chime laugh of his threaded prettily with the slow brass music.

“Well. Perhaps I could afford it...”

There was that quick flash of his eyes down and away, and his new teeth bit his lip. Good Merlin, Philomenes Kecklepenny looked coy. He could feel it on his face, and really wished he could see it. “My habit isn’t a cheap one, as you well know. I’ve bought you dinner many times over already, Meredith.”

And hell yes did he like using her name. Calling her ‘Miss Renfield’ made him feel like a misbehaving little brat in primary school. He couldn’t quite get a handle on this ‘stop smiling’ thing. Not the polite forced ones he’d flashed her in the past. This was warm and genuine, ebbing away and then flowing back as if this was all some big private joke to him. Honest, though?

Philomenes was happy. How odd.

“How fortunate, though! I’m glad I caught you when I did, not wanting to impinge upon your time with a personal visit. Popping in just because I like you is hardly professional." Thee quirk of a pale brow, a wry grin.  "But, seeing as you’re free…”

Phil dug into his coat pocket and procured one of his pretty violet cigs. Perched delicately between the fingers of his unscathed hand, he ignited the tip with a candle flame. He shrugged amicably and took the cigarette between his lips. The sweet, shimmery gold smoke might have been familiar to her by now. Maybe it stuck on her clothes whenever he left a meeting. Phil hoped so.

He cocked it delicately away from his body before he spoke again. A glance was spared for the smoldering tip, as if that would help him find the right words. His eyes slid back on Meredith after but a second, though.

“I trust you’re a busy woman, yeah?”

Oh pretty little thing. Knew how to play, this one did. Ever little smile, glance and sigh. She wondered if in between drug-induced stupors he practiced in the mirror. Or if that was just a part of it. Staring at your own body with a fascination that could only come about through mind-altering 'medicine'. Meredith didn't know. The little tobacco soldiers were her only addiction.

"Fair enough, Philomenes," Meredith said, giving the man a little smile when he defended his monetary funds. Though to be honest, she had seen plenty of junkies that wouldn't spend a knut on anything but their habit and steal when they spent their last bit of cash from selling the shirt off their back. Happily so. With a bright smile on their faces. Not to different from the one Phil was sporting, albeit without quite so much haze. He was dressed up as he'd likely ever get and as sober he would ever get.

Meredith sipped her wine as he trailed off. She waited for him to finish his sentence, as to why exactly he was seeking her out for something other than business and was pleased to see she was "off." Instead she got more showmanship and a sight and smell of one of his specialty cigarettes. Pretty little things, those. Not bad quality either. Of course, she preferred the classic look. She even had one of those 1950s lady's cigarette holders for special occasions.

She resisted the urge to ask for one or light up one of her own and instead swirled the wine under her nose and let the aroma rise. It was a particularly good vintage and this particular year went for 100 sickles a glass. She sipped the wine as he finally spoke again. Was she going to have to force everything from his lips word by word? God she hoped not. If he wasn't terribly obnoxious she was going to let him stay. If not he could go try his charm on the cobbles.

"Yes, I am a busy woman, that's why you're lucky to catch me free," Meredith said, a hint of impatience in her voice. "So are you here for idle shit-chat or is there actually something on your mind you'd like to discuss?"

Most would have been – should have been – alarmed by inciting Meredith Renfield’s annoyance, however faint. But Philomenes’ smile flashed yet again, and he leaned back in his plush chair with another bell-chime lilting laugh.

“Alright, alright.” He tossed his hands up in mock exasperation, coy little cat’s smile curling his lips. “Chop my arm off why don’t you.”

There was a pause, where his gaze flicked down to the table top and he inhaled another long drag on his cigarette. When Philomenes deigned to speak, the words were snake oil smooth and curled with gold smoke.

“I want to take you out, for Valentines. A holiday devoted to a man decapitated. Why, on such an occasion I can’t help but think of you without my dopamine levels going all silly.”

Meredith smirked and took another sip of wine when Phil made his 'chop off my arm' comment.

"Tempting," she said, clearly amused. Anyone that accused Meredith of having a twisted sense of humor was stating the obvious. She did. And made no effort to hide it. There was a reason she had people that specialized in people skills. On her own, Meredith could easily scare off anyone with delicate sensibilities. She tended to do just fine on her own with criminals though. Fancy that.

Philomenes paused again. This would be a long dinner wouldn't it? He had a flair for the dramatic, this one. So did Meredith. She had wanted to be a movie star as a child and went off to West End frequently. But right now was not theatre time. It was dinner time and she picked up her knife and fork and cut up a slice of meat while she waited. Besides, her first meeting with the part-veela had taught her to avoid direct eye contact as much as possible.

The knife was still in her hand when he finally spoke. Meredith paused and looked directly at Phil unblinking.

Well. This was a surprise. And for once Meredith Renfield was (temporarily) at a loss for words. He...what? He couldn't be...serious, could he?

"I think," Meredith said, trying to regain her composure. "I think, Philomenes, I should have humored you with small talk."

She put the cutlery down and the hand on her temple as she stared at him long and hard. He was serious. Dear Lord, he was serious. Oh he was handsome enough even with the lack of fingers and junkie smile...especially with the junkie smile. And pretty new hair and...dear God girl. Put yourself together. He wasn't that attractive. He just has genetically one-uped.

"While I appropriate your sense of humor, I don't date business partners," Meredith said, finding words again. "No matter what your dopamine levels are telling you. Besides which I will be too busy for any dates. I have Calaveras and Spellpunk to run and we will be busy."

Not to mention the working deal for Hogwarts, but Phil didn't need to know that.

Philomenes couldn’t precisely say what he’d been expecting. Going through all the bloody effort (effort to Phil, anyway), he’d been more than hoping he’d at least get a maybe. Perhaps there was a glimmer of gold in there, somewhere. She didn’t say, ‘Philomenes, please, you’re an insufferable junkie and your mere presence gives me a rash’. Business partners. Right.

“Oh, dear, I must say my heart is on a skewer.”

He cocked his head, and managed another toothy smile.

“I suppose I’ll have Nathan leave a bouquet of Spanish roses and a flitch of shrunken heads outside your door for me, one of these nights. The shrunken heads bit would probably push that into harassment with most ladies, but I think you’re something special.” Beaming, like ‘you might like shrunken heads’ was a truly glowing compliment. His huge pale eyes swung up to the ruby-bloodied little cleavers glinting in her ears. “I do love those earrings, you know.”

Funny, how he didn’t frown or apologize or scuttle away like a beaten dog at the rejection, like most boys would have. Philomenes had a way of never quite taking ‘no, go away’ as a definite reply from women he was fond of, unless they went so far to…oh, he didn’t know. Light him on fire or crucio him. Love breakers, those.

That warm, hazy look about didn’t drop one degree. Philomenes rested his elbow on the table, idly tracing the curve of his lower lip with a pale spindle finger, pondering something for a half-moment.

“Would you ease the parting blow with a glass of wine, or would you rather I scamper off?” There was a glint behind those demure white lashes that conveyed the soft smile his mouth, that this was mere teasing, that he didn’t care either way. Oh, but he did. Of course he did.

Philomenes was a strange bird and a little off-putting, but at least the drugs and his personality seemed lazy and relaxed. She'd never seen him fly of the handle or have his crazy dip into any aggressive or violent tendencies. That at least was a plus. A very big plus. The last thing she needed was a deranged junkie throwing a temper tantrum in her restaurant because she wouldn't be his date for Valentine's Day.

He recovered from her rejection fairly well. Sort of. Maybe. He was now teasing her with promises of roses and shrunken heads. He was right- she was one of the few woman that could actually appreciate the uniqueness of such an arrangement.

She tilted her head slightly and smirked.

"Charming as always," she said. "I already have a preferred supplier for such items. Maybe I can refer you."

She sipped her wine, grateful the conversation was back to more solid ground. On the one hand, it was always nice to be complimented by someone wanting to take you to dinner. On the other hand, it was Phil. Phil was a junkie that was out of his mind half the time. Hard to take a compliment seriously.

"I'm found of them myself, that's why I wear them," Meredith said. She arched an eyebrow when he asked for wine (or more specifically, at how he asked for it).

"I suppose one drink for a valued customer would be fine," said said, signalling one of the waiters to bring another glass for Phil. She wasn't going to date him or whatever else was in that hazy mind of his, but she's ease the blow as he said. Not out of compassion for him, but consideration for his purse.

"I hope this doesn't mean you're going to try and get in here on the 14th and make a fool out of yourself with a bouquet and a serenade," she said casually. She was only half-kidding.