This was the deep belly of February, the part where everybody gets to aching for spring and snow has officially stopped being whimsical. The alley was black as coal and narrow as a capillary, speckled dimly with lights way down at the end when it broke into the street. High brick walls stretched to the night sky, obscuring the moon if the clouds hadn’t gotten it already. Snow was still piled inches deep back here, because no one could be bothered to clear it.

Phil was standing in a puddle of grey melt, the ice heated up by his warming spells, sucking on a rollie so hard it looked like he was in pain. His hair looked bone white under the faint pale touch of street lamps.

 Why she’d wanted them to meet outside was beyond him. Perhaps she was someone posh, or perhaps she had a reputation to uphold. Phil personally thought keeping a positive rep was too exhausting. He loved to lie and people seemed to love eating his lies, but at least he was honest about who he was (I drink, I smoke, I’m a junkie, I’m a slag, I’m poor, I probably felt up your girlfriend in school. My name is Phil. Hi.)

He didn’t care how she’d heard of him, just that she had money and that he had plenty of product to push. Obtaining muggle drugs was laughably easy, if you were just quick and quiet about it. Just tap a 50 quid note with a wand and mutter gemino a few times – there. Now you’re wealthy enough to buy out any little muggy drug lord in London. Nevermind that the Ministry would draw and quarter a person for dicking around with muggles like that. If druggies wanted to throw money at him for being entrepreneurial, that was fine with Phil.

The warming charms were making him sweat under all his layers, and he scowled from behind his myriad of scarves. Just because he could keep himself toasty didn’t mean she should make him wait. Philomenes despised waiting. But wait he did, because he loved galleons and having milk in his fridge so much more. His head snapped up and down the alley, fingers twined ready around his wand, at the sound of clacking footsteps. If it was an auror doing nightly rounds he’d apparate in a heartbeat, even with not a knut of milk money gained.

It’d be terribly difficult to explain away the plethora of heroine baggies buried in his coat pockets, veela charm or no.

-- Partying Outfit. --

---

Music pumping through the building, bodies swaying and rubbing in all the right ways... Columbine was in the zone. As always, her coat was sprawled on someone's bed and her heels were thrown carelessly to the side. Columbine had a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand, a quickly burning cigarette in the other. She had been dancing with some strange Irish bloke. Yet another muggle. But who really cared? When Cole was out in her territory, nothing mattered. Especially not blood. Well, sometimes blood... Literally... If a ho got out of place.

Her bottle-hand was draped over the boy's neck, almost like a death grip, while her smoking-hand swayed by her side along with her quick hips. Thankfully, since Cole was half-Italian, she knew how to dance quite well without looking like an uppity white girl. Instead, she looked like a drugged-up, smooth-dancing, white-trash bimbo. Which was basically what she was. And she accepted this fact long ago.

The boy became rather touchy around her waist and Cole's eyes glided down to his wrists, a small smirk forming on her lips. As he moved on hand up, towards her cheek, she got a good glimpse of his wristwatch. It was then that she remembered that she had spoken to a certain fella about buying some of his sweet New Jack Swing. And she was running a tad late. Columbine was deathly aware of how dangerous an angry drug dealer could be, just for being late. Especially a wizard one. She had been smacked around plenty by a furious dealer. Of course, she always smacked back.

Columbine liked the way drugs made her feel... But she couldn't force herself learn how to make them herself. It was some sort of innocent-motif that she still had stuck in her head. It refused to die a horrible, heroin-filled death.

The girl had heard about this guy through old conversations with Averie. They were in the same year in school and whatnot. She had never spoken to this "Phil" fella, but she supposed a small change in her schedule wouldn't hurt. Cole was getting low and the man had a steady supply for whatever reason. No questions. Just a business transaction.

Within seconds, she tore herself away from her dance partner (burning out the cigarette in his shirt before leaving) and headed to the back rooms to find her stuff. She pulled on her heels and snatched her coat from underneath a snogging couple. She didn't adjust herself or make herself presentable. Columbine was who she was. A drug dealer couldn't judge her... That'd be hypocritical. She had chosen this time of night because she knew she'd be out... And she chose for him to wait outside to make it quick. She dumbly didn't realize how shady it was.

Thankfully, Cole was lucky enough to learn to apparate before she dropped out of school. And, despite being dumber than a common six year old, she had yet to splinch herself. This was an amazing feat. So, as soon as her heels met darkened concrete, she was long gone from the muggle club house. In a matter of seconds, her drunken, hooker strut was making its way down Knockturn Alley. Being magic actually had its benefits sometimes. It let her travel quickly and heat up microwave meals in no time.

Much to Cole's surprise, she actually remembered to bring her booze. Naturally, she took a swig of it immediately. Whiskey always made her feel warm. She didn't need any potions besides her best friend to make her bare legs feel cozy.

Her eyes landed on a rather dubious character with a strange look on his face. Very pale hair... He was almost handsome in the lighting. But as Cole got closer, he basically looked like a skeleton. This didn't exactly change Columbine's mind about him being appealing. If it has a pulse, she'll try to love on it. She held the bottle close to her rather exposed cleavage and smiled at the man.

"Hey, baby..." Her voice slurred out, "You're Phil, yeah?" Columbine looked him over. She grinned prettily and then took another drink out of her bottle. After a moment the curvy girl took to staring up at the tall man, "Honey, you really need to fatten yourself up..." He made Columbine feel a bit self-conscious of her chubbiness. Then again, it wasn't hard to make Cole feel bad about herself. She simply grinned again and continued to stare at him.

"Fancy a drink? It's cold out..." she finally said, one fur-covered arm extending out and offering the bottle. "I'm Columbine, by the way. Not that you really care, but might as well make this pleasant," plus, she didn't want him hurting her Brown Sugar.

…had he been sick to death of waiting? No, Philomenes Kecklepenny had never felt that emotion before ever. As far as he knew, as far his Charm knew, he’d been warm and inviting as a cup of hot cocoa his entire life.

Funny, how his entire disposition could be flipped by a drunken slur and a mile of cleavage. He peeled his spine off the wall, movements slow and smooth as a serpent’s. A serpent fixing to unhinge its jaw and swallow a bunny rabbit whole, mind, but she didn’t need to know that.

There was a silent moment where Phil just cocked his head and stared unabashedly at her thighs, sliding out from under her hem bold as you please, all pink in the cold and pressed together snug as two spoons in a drawer. They looked like terribly comfortable place to rest.

“Oh, my dear, don’t be foolish. Of course I care. I like to get well acquainted! How else could I assure you’d be coming back?”

That voice was silk, smoke, silver; lips pulling back to expose his teeth. People liked Phil’s smile, but usually didn’t like Phil’s teeth. They were crowed and impossible magazine white and just a bit too pointy to be safe.  He pulled back his hood and dipped his head graciously before accepting the bottle, burnt stubs of fingers on full display.

“And call me Philomenes, please. ‘Phil’ just sounds so terribly pleb.”

Pulled the scarves down from his face to pressed the bottle to his lips, drank deep. Her lips had been wrapped the around the glass end not moments before, and it was still warm from her mouth. He smiled again, this time slow and contemplative. His grey eyes peered down at the woman through the veil of white lashes, glinting like metal in the dull light.

“Columbine,” Phil said, rolling the syllables on his tongue as if they were a sip of rare chardonnay. It looked as though he enjoyed the taste they left in his mouth, sweet and bubbly. “Just like the flower, yeah? I hear hummingbirds love you, all bright and full of nectar.” Philomenes’ laugh was a flash of light in the darkness, all the sounds of sweet piano keys and surf on the shore bursting out of him, curiously dissonant from his bleak appearance.

The man inched closer to Columbine, ever so slowly. His grey eyes stared down at the poor girl, and she simply stared back. She noted, quickly, that he wasn't looking into her jacked up pupils, so that was one plus to this man. Of course Cole noticed him staring at her bare flesh. It was rather flattering, how he was just ogling quietly. It made Cole feel like a lady. Not that she wasn't... She was quite obviously a woman... She was just very untidy and boyish at some points.

Even if the man was a raunchy drug dealer, he seemed rather charming. Inviting, almost. She didn't think about whether or not he had something special about him. She simply believed him to be rather handsome. Then again, any man was handsome as long as Cole had a bottle of liquor.

“Oh, my dear, don’t be foolish. Of course I care. I like to get well acquainted! How else could I assure you’d be coming back?”

Columbine smiled at him and giggled, rather girlishly. "Oh. Wow... Well..." she shrugged and ran a hand through her long, curly, red hair. She felt like she was sixteen again. A handsome man wanting to be "well acquainted" with her. It was a new breath of air, almost. Usually it was Cole who had to do all the "acquainting".

He took the bottle with a rather frightening smile and Columbine's eyes landed casually on his hand. While her expression showed no sign of thought, she felt a bit more comfortable around the man. He had a flaw... A deformity. As did Cole. He was missing two fingers, index and middle. It was a lot more harsh than Columbine's one keyhole pupil. She felt a surge of empathy for him. When did it happen? Was he teased for it...? Poor man.

"Alien hand..." She muttered, quietly, a small smile curving her painted lips, "How cute."

“And call me Philomenes, please. ‘Phil’ just sounds so terribly pleb.”

He drank from her whiskey, and she simply stared at him, her face horribly confused. "I don't know if I can remember that, baby..." she replied, her hips swaying slightly, moving with the rhythm of her voice. But her expression cleared and she smiled again, "But I'll try, yeah?" She highly doubted she would, however. Cole was rather intoxicated... And "Phil" was just so much easier to remember. But she mouthed the name a few times, keeping it locked in her brain. Hopefully she wouldn't have an issue.

“Columbine... Just like the flower, yeah? I hear hummingbirds love you, all bright and full of nectar.”

The girl's jaw fell slack and she stared up with wide eyes as he spoke. It was almost as if, despite how wiry the man was, everything about him was ten times better than Columbine. At least, that was the way it felt. Phil was charming Cole in, yet she couldn't make herself fight back. She was so used to having to do everything herself... Having to convince men that she was, indeed, attractive. It didn't occur to her that he could have just been sweet talking her so she'd buy more drugs. Even if he was, she probably wouldn't have minded. It was pathetic that even the smallest amount of life could draw Cole in.

"Yeah... Like the flower..." She responded, slowly. Her fingers lightly grazed her wrist, where she had the flower tattooed onto her skin. Columbine's breath slowed for a moment before she snapped herself out of the strange trance. Again, a smile formed on her face and she shoved her hands into her furry coat's pockets.

She stepped forward, slightly. One heel curving around the other. "Sorry I was so late, by the way," she told him, her flirtatious smirk plastered on her face, "I got caught up at a party." A rather nice party, too. But she hardly minded missing it at this point. "Last time I was late for a deal, the man hit me... Really hard, too," she had a black eye for quite a while, too... Nothing makeup couldn't cover up, "So I lit his pants on fire... It was funny," this time Columbine let out a strange laugh... It was obvious that she was tipsy. "I ended up helping him after about five minutes... I felt kind of bad... But what was he going to do? He was a muggle," Columbine was always dealing with muggles. They were dumber than her.

"That's why I contacted you, yeah? I obviously couldn't go back to him. You're not going to hit me, are you? The Ministry keeps getting on my case about hurting people..." She paused, "Not that I would hurt you, baby." He looked too intelligent and dangerous for her to attack him, anyways.

Columbine's smile stayed in place, "So let's see what you got, hm? I only got half an ounce or so left... What good is that?" She chuckled, lightly, and took another step forward.

Just half an ounce? He almost voiced his disbelief, but tamped it down well enough. If she was dealing too or something, fine by him. The sooner he got the muggle contraband off his sticky hands the better. It wasn’t worth it for something kicked like a mule then left a junkie stranded in the middle of nowheresville a couple hours later. Too expensive a habit for such a shitty high, he thought. It never helped him, anyhow. Never fortified his mind against them, just left him sunk and vulnerable so they could –

Anyway.

“Got what he deserved, then. I just hope Mom didn’t get on you too hard about blasting the bastard.” He lowered his gaze, down and away, as if apologetic for the cruelty of nasty dealers everywhere. He raised his mangled hand to her, wriggling the stunted digits, smile apologetic for the deformity.

“Don’t let that fool you. I’m meek as a lamb.” Big eyes and school boy sincerity, that’s all he was. In this light, in this moment, he probably looked like a shivering slip of a thing barely out of his Hogwarts uni. “I won’t hurt you. Really.”

Philomenes could feel a soft tingle creeping up his limbs, the faintest hint of clouds around his vision. The charm knew when it was time for business, it knew when to amp and when to be scarce as a shadow. A whisper of sea air touched the alley, salt and sun and ozone. Beneath the sick-sweet gasoline smell emenating from the street, perhaps there was a trace of squished white grape and crumbling herb.

Perhaps.

He didn’t say how a sloshed little thing like her shouldn’t be coming around back alleys look for dealers anyway, but he kept that to himself. She could consider herself lucky Phil was of such a sweet and beneficent disposition.

His pale gaze had watched her hands as she spoke, followed their quick little movements, saw how the pad of her thumb grazed so delicate on the inside of her wrist. She was moving towards him, he moved towards her. If she’d been a taller girl, the closeness might have been more compromising. But as it was, Philomenes just loomed over her, peering down at her hands with blunt curiosity. The rollie was crumbling to ash in his lips, so he spat it out and crushed it into the snow beneath his boot heel.

The few fingers lingering on his left hand brushed against Columbine’s, touch skipping ever so lightly over the tattoo coiling her wrist. A flower. A columbine, even. “Why, blossom,” he breathed, smile softening to a curl of warm beneficence. The heat of his voice made steam of the air. “If that isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen all week.” His grasp lingered, light as moth wings.

He bit his lip, flicked his eyes back up to Columbine’s. Hesitantly, his fingertips fell away and migrated into his coat pocket. “I apologize,” he said. “Easily distracted.” When his hand resurfaced from the dark depths, it came bearing an elegant velvet pouch. He unlaced the binding string, and held a sickle-sized rock up for her to see.

“Got about five grams, love. Ten galleons per, and fifty for the lot.”

If Columbine was better at reading faces, she would have been able to tell that Phil thought she was a bit nuts for thinking half an ounce was too little. Columbine abused her Brown Sugar like there was no tomorrow. Her right arm had hardened from all the injections, forcing her to find different areas to penetrate. She had slowed down recently, as she noticed how unhealthy it was making her feel. She knew that each time she used the drug, the more she would need next time. She couldn't quit it, since withdrawal was the worst feeling in the world. But she gave herself enough to keep the bad feelings at bay. Pill popping was another habit of hers... It seemed to be working pretty well for her so far.

“Got what he deserved, then. I just hope Mom didn’t get on you too hard about blasting the bastard.”

She chuckled, lightly, "They hate me... I had to stop using my wand so much. I think if they catch me again, I won't be around too long." Columbine smiled, sweetly, before adding, "Nah, it wasn't bad. Not much harm was done." She had been lectured quite a bit, had to go through a few court cases. In the end, the man didn't remember anything and Columbine was one step closer to facing a legit punishment.

He raised his alien hand for Columbine to get a better look at. Naturally, he hand shot up and gently touched the side of his hand that still had fingers. "Wow..." She mumbled. While she felt really bad for him, she was quite impressed. Battle scars. Cole wondered if he would ever tell her what happened. Not now, of course... They just met. Perhaps later. If they were to ever meet up again, of course. "Wicked," her hand fell back down to her side. She was afraid to touch the scorched skin, even if it did interest her. Cole felt like it would be impolite to just catch a feel without permission. His buttocks, on the other hand, was a different story.

“I won’t hurt you. Really.”

The woman's round, doe eyes stared up into his. Columbine grew even more comfortable around him... He had very innocent eyes. What was such a lovely boy doing selling drugs? Peculiar. He probably had a darker side to him or something of the sort. Mysterious. A girl liked it when a man was gruff and aggressive and blunt. Columbine was a different story. She simply wanted to feel safe. She was a rather battered woman. She didn't need gruffness in her life. "I believe you," she stupidly told him. Columbine hardly knew the man. He could have been a predator for all she knew. And yet, she hadn't thought of that.

Someone with a face like that couldn't possibly ever hurt her. He wasn't magazine gorgeous... But... There was just something about him.

All their talking had distracted her from how close they had gotten. He towered over her... Dangerously large compared to the small woman. She grew conscious of her movements. Cole leaned on her left leg, the right curving out and releasing the weight from her heeled ankle. The chilliness reddened the newly exposed skin. She shivered. Not only from the cold, but from how intimate their closeness was. She didn't expect to meet up with her new dealer only to end up wanting in his bed. She usually had enough decency to keep business and sex apart from each other.

The man gently took Columbine's wrist while she was gazing at him. She had hardly noticed until she felt the soft touch of his hand. Her stare fell to her wrist, her flower ominously curling as his fingers caressed over it. It was her only magical tattoo, the rest being words that had meaning to her. She was now attentive of the areas she had inked. Wanting to mention there was more than one... Three to be exact... Her favorite being on her inner thigh... But she didn't want to reveal that she was easy. Not yet, at least.

“Why, blossom, if that isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Columbine's face was already flushed from the booze and the cold... But she still felt warmness spread in her cheeks. His stream of breath brushed against her skin and her head remained down. She felt giddy... Like a schoolgirl who saw her crush in the corridor and managed to say, "Hi." He had given her a name, so close and welcome... She didn't know the man, but she wanted to. Boy, did she want to.

She only managed to make a small whimper escape her lips. She didn't know what to say, but wanted to respond so badly. Columbine was a flirt, she could usually think of a comeback. However, her empty mindedness got the best of her.

“I apologize, easily distracted.”

"Don't worry about it, honey," her stiff lips finally smiled at him, her plump bottom lip quivering slightly, "No need to apologize... No need at all." She still couldn't force herself to look into his face. Her eyes focused only on his torso, memorizing the style of his coat, watching as he pulled out a small bag from his pocket. Something smelled nice... And Columbine knew it wasn't the perfume sample she had used from a magazine she found in that house she was in. She smelled like lilacs at the moment. But it wasn't what she had caught a sniff of.

"You smell lovely, baby..." She told him, pushing herself slightly closer to be able to smell him properly. It was him... Sure, there was a slight undertone of something slightly fouler... But there was something else... Her face lingered around his shoulder before he spoke up.

“Got about five grams, love. Ten galleons per, and fifty for the lot.”

Ten galleons per gram? Cole's eyes widened. Not only was the man appealing, but he was cheap, too. She took a step back and pulled her own small bag from the deep depths of her cleavage. She had thirty galleons, which would normally just give her a gram or less from a normal muggle dealer. She had gotten lucky. Columbine had more money stuffed away at her loft, but she knew she couldn't spend it all on drugs. She still needed to buy groceries.

Columbine smiled up at him and handed over the bag... Velvety and red just like her smile. "Sweetie... With prices like that, I only wish I knew you years ago," she switched her weight to her right leg, the other curving out just like before.

"Three grams then. That should hold me for quite some time, yeah?" She almost hated to have such a quick transaction. Or to buy so much... "Or maybe less... Hm? Who's to say I don't want to come back to you so soon?"