outfit

From his seat in front of Florean Fortescue's, Darian lounged with his long legs crossed at the ankle and devoured an ice cream cone with the lazily intent purpose of one who had nothing better to do than discomfort the natives. It was a warm day, there was a lovely breeze, he had bits of real mint zinging on his tongue all cool chlorophyll and cream - yes, Darian enjoyed spending a few moments like this. What a brilliant idea to escape from his shop for a bit of people-watching. Pity almost no one would meet his eyes. But then, middle of the work day like this, Darian was not really expecting to see anything he liked.

He caught the eye of the guy behind the counter, smiled a polite smile in return to the other's cheery nod. Fortescue's was under new management after Florean got himself dragged off by Death Eaters and killed near 11 years ago (what offense could an ice cream maker possibly give, Darian wondered, but not too hard). Thank Merlin it had opened again; he had good memories of this place. Fortescue's to-go pints had had proved invaluable on a number of separate occasions.

-- Outfit. --

---

It wasn't rare to see Columbine Taylor stomping around Diagon Alley. During her days off, she could be seen practically anywhere her little heart desired. Normally, she stuck around Diagon, nicking cash from people here and there. No harm truly done, but Columbine's petty job at Puddifoot's hardly paid her fix, let alone her basic needs. Such as her bills and her food. Cole was quite the pickpocket, anyway. It would almost be a shame if she didn't steal her way through her life. It'd be like being able to brew perfect potions and never touching a cauldron for the rest of her life. It would be a darn shame. Besides, Columbine needed the money much more than the rich folk who trotted around with their guts all bond by expensive clothes. Columbine herself was rather curvy, so she wouldn't have been able to fit in most of the pricy dresses she wished to stuff into her bag every time she went out "window shopping."

After bumping into a man wearing a rather nice, fitted suit, Cole had caught hold of a fat wallet. It was stuffed with enough money to pay her rent and enough to buy her some groceries. Since she had already pocketed plenty of coins, she was rather puzzled. She had never had so much money before. At least, not on her own. Averie had a nice amount of cash flow and kept Columbine quite comfortable and content for such a long time. She missed him, she did. But she was more pissed than anything. But she still missed him. Or, at least, the structure he gave her in her life.

Columbine hid the money in her cleavage (being the only available place to hide things) and continued to make her way along Diagon Alley. Perhaps she should buy herself a treat? Columbine's eyes glanced along the endless stores, especially the jewelry stores, and considered what exactly she could buy herself without scraping much of her budget.

But then... Florean Fortescue's popped up right in front of her. Columbine's steps hesitated immediately. It was rather nice and warm out, so ice cream would really be nice... And Columbine was hardly a girl to care what she ate. She was pudgy for a reason. She loved food and didn't work off the calories. Naturally, most heroin addicts were quite scrawny and sickly looking. Columbine still shared most of the addict traits, but she was simply, naturally, curvy. She was part Italian, after all. No average white girl could maintain Columbine's bust without having a bit of Italian or Spanish or whatever.

As her hips swung into the direction of the entrance, that was when she noticed the rather handsome looking man outside. Eating his ice cream without a care. All attractive people did that... They sat around and looked attractive. Columbine recognized the man from a fancy shmancy store around Diagon. She hardly remembered which one, as she probably never entered it, but she recognized him. She adverted her eyes nonetheless. He was likely rich and rich men hardly paid close mind to Columbine. Even though she'd really like to have a Sugar Daddy. Cole was attractive in her own sense, but she wasn't posh and she hardly looked clean at all.

Columbine had gotten herself a cone of plain strawberry, her favorite. Like Columbine had hoped for, it hardly even scratch her newly found fund. A cheap treat. Her favorite kind of treat... Next to a free treat, but she couldn't exactly steal an ice cream cone, now could she? Unless it were from a child, and that was just pure evil.

She exited the shop, stepping to the side of the door as she licked the edges of her ice cream carelessly. She wasn't sure what exactly her next plan was. Now that she had her cash, she didn't need to go pickpocketing again.

Her eyes landed on the man once more.

Well... Starting a conversation wouldn't hurt anybody, now would it? Columbine was already trash, she didn't exactly need to be afraid of being ignored. But she had that slight fear of rejection because of Averie. But also an extreme case of daddy issues. It all basically balanced itself out. Columbine thought for a moment about what she would even say. Nice weather we're having. Wow, Columbine? Really? Don't be stupid. He won't like you if he knows you're stupid.

Instead, she innocently scooted her way closer to him, cheeky smile already forming her face. Speaking to a higher class was a lot harder than the mindless urchins she hooked up with every night. They were always immediately swooned by Cole because of her ability to chug beer and shove the bottle rather far into her throat. She didn't quite understand that. Youngin's. But she knew everything was worth a shot. And it was just a mere conversation.

"Don't 'cha just love this place?" Columbine pipped up with a grin, "Best ice cream I've ever had, yeah. Even the weirder flavors are good." She paused. Did she just make herself sound incredibly fat? Columbine stopped herself from looking down at her body to make sure she looked rather model-like for the fancy handsome man. Instead, she just made an undeliberate, slow lick at her ice cream. "Like the bubble gum with nuts flavor. Why would you want that? I don't know! But it's delicious!" She laughed at herself and tore her eyes away, casually glancing at the street. Columbine knew how to run in heels. She could run away. And dash inside a hole. And die. Forever.

Well, here finally was something interesting. Darian meant to catch the girl's gaze as she stepped past him, but she kept it carefully averted. His eyes followed her figure as she slipped inside.

Very nice. Very nice indeed. Darian put on his patented flirtatious expression #7 - red mouth curling just so, limbs arranged in artful invitation, blue eyes slanted friendly and fringed with long long lashes - come on darling, throw a man a bone - and when she came out he tilted his head back and leveled her with it. Either it worked or she'd already decided she liked the look of him because closer she came, clutching her strawberry cone between pink little fingers.

She smiled, he smiled, they both smiled for ice cream.

"I do," he agreed. "Good thing Mr. Fortescue had a son. And what a lovely day this is to enjoy a little ice cream. Sit with me, won't you? I've been dying for some company who properly appreciates bubblegum with nuts, and we'd make such a pretty pair. Two redheads, after all, are a lovelier sight than one."

Much to Cole's surprise, the man smiled back at her. His much more charming than hers, but Columbine never fit the charming category. However, she assumed that his smile meant he was down to talk, so flirtatious Cole mode was amplified up to eleven. Much more comfortable in her own skin, her red eyebrows rose with delight. Perhaps it was going to be an extremely good day. She got her money, and possibly even a new, attractive acquaintance. Or even a Sugar Daddy. She wasn't sure if she wanted to use this particular rich man as her own, personal bank, but she sure liked to look at him.

His voice was smooth, much like the pretty, clean skin on his face, and he invited her to sit with him. Without skipping a beat, she sat across from him with a sweet smile and crossed her leg over the other. It wasn't normal for Columbine to willingly wear socks or tights, but she felt like she should uphold what little dignity she had left and at least cover up a day during the daytime. At night, however, the dress she was wear would look perfectly fine without the useless accessories. It was one of her party dresses. Then again, she didn't have many dresses that weren't bought for the sole purpose of looking good on the dance floor. Or, just... The floor.

"Something tells me you're not as appreciative for bubblegum with nuts as I am, but I value your enthusiasm," Columbine told him with a cheery giggle before going back to her cone for a moment.

Columbine looked him over once more. He looked quite different than when he was at work. Perhaps it was the strange, casual attire he had donned for the day. Strange being not a suit. That's when Columbine realized he worked at that high end apparel store, the one that she never truly cared for because the clothes were much to posh and must too costly and there was no possible way she could stuff a dress into her bag because there were always people in there. Snooty people. However, Columbine smiled at herself, inwardly patting herself on the back for remembering something so mundane and useless.

She tilted her chin to the side, "No one appreciates a redhead as much as a fellow redhead," a mindless lick at her ice cream, "People don't know what they're missing. Much like bubblegum ice cream with nuts."

Cole placed her elbows gently on the table, "So I believe I've seen you around here, yeah? Not sure. But I think I have," no, she was pretty sure, but Columbine the Criminal was much too creepy and raunchy to expose just yet, "You probably have never seen me. I work in Hogsmeade. But I recognize you, so..." She wasn't exactly sure where she was going with that. But she simply smiled and continued with her ice cream.

She sat across from him and crossed a pair of very pretty legs, but Darian didn't so much as glance at them. Not yet. While he believed in indulging one's carnal instincts at any given moment, society unfortunately was more likely to label him a sleaze. He would not hide his obvious interest, oh, no, but it wasn't classy to stare unless that stare was either A.)smoldering or B.)accompanied by a naughty smirk. Not to mention staring implied a rather terrible lack of self-control and even, Darian knew, weakness.

He laid a shocked hand over his heart at the suggestion his love of bubblegum with nuts was less than true. But he relaxed a moment later back into his usual languor, even though for a moment the feel of thin cotton instead of heavy silk or velvet brocade under his hand had startled him. Just for a moment - barely anything - ah, he was too used to wearing his own designs. But there were benefits to this flimsy outfit. Thin cotton broadcasted its easy ability to be removed, emphasized with its cling the masculine body it contained - and maybe not everyone thought of sleeveless shirts as so sensual, but Darian was not used to being able to see his own arms in public. The lack of weight (no boots, no heavy blazer with its underlayers of shirts, no scarf or hankerchef, and only a smattering of jewelry) made him feel half-naked already. It was why he liked summer so much. In the heat, it was much easier to go about half-dressed.

But it was unusual for him. Look, even this stranger-girl knew it.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, answering her comment about redheads before covering either his identity or where he worked. "People have always been so very appreciative to me." His smile, dazzlingly white and very wide, was chased with wickedness. Then he used those shiny white teeth to crunch crunch crunch the last of his cone, and licked his fingers clean.

"You might well have seen me, yes. Darian Morgan, owner and designer of Libertine Ltd. just down this yon street, what a pleasure to meet you. Please don't judge by my outfit the quality of my wares - I am slumming it today." He let her be the judge of which wares he meant. He also didn't mention she might have recognized his lazy smile or his curling red hair from last month's issue of Spell And Style, because boasting was rude.

The man hardly even passed a glance down at her bare thighs. This was intriguing in itself. Either he was truly a high class man with brilliant mannerisms, or he was gay. Either way, Columbine was still interested. She wasn't one to judge a man for his preference, as she herself dabbled in both sexes. But she was leaning more towards him being polite. She was rather used to men staring down her dress or at her lovely, curvy thighs. She preferred it that way, as they never looked her in her deformed eye. Columbine didn't mind him keeping his eyes up, but she also felt a bit uneasy. If a guy didn't look at her cleavage, did that mean she was ugly?

She moved her head ever so subtly to the side, to catch a glimpse of herself in the closest window. She looked fine, she thought. Her hair was nicely brushed and her big eyes were as vibrant as the blue of her dress. He was just being polite, yeah. There was nothing wrong with a polite man. He could easily just ask Columbine to have a peek if he wanted. That's what they did, right?

He acted slightly offended that she would ever say his love for bubblegum ice cream with nuts was fake. It was rather cute, it was. It put a wide smile on Columbine's face.

"People have always been so very appreciative to me."

Columbine quirked a brow, "Oh," she began with sarcasm as thick as the cream that lined her tongue, "I wonder why? A handsome man like yourself? You'd think people would simply mistaken you for a common ginger." Columbine, on the other hand, had it rough. Even at work, people treated her like crap, even when she had her nice, clean uniform on. But, then again,

"I'm just a waitress, you know? Nobody cares about waitresses," it could have also been the fact that she was obviously a drug user and she probably nicked their wallet last week. Columbine was insecure about all that, but it was incredibly true. Her hardened arms and black veins were the biggest turn offs. However, she had sleeves rolled down during work. She was under appreciated at work because she was just a waitress serving tea and getting pissy whenever someone kissed their lover when she took their order. Puddifoot's made Columbine sad.

And then he told her who he was. Darian Morgan, a tailor and a business man. "Slumming it up" at an ice cream shop. How interesting. It was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. Her cold finger tips grazed her wrist, which had a drip of ice cream running down her tattoo, making it waver its petals. This sparked her own introduction. She almost forgot her manners.

"Nice to meet you, Darian. I'm Columbine Taylor. Waitress at Madame Puddifoot's," she chuckled to herself for such a stupid title, "No judging at all. Not everyone can wear pristine suits all the time, now can they? I wish I could say the same for myself, but... These are my normal clothes." Actually, the covered up more than usual, but she didn't like making herself come off easy during a first impression.

"Yes, I have seen you around, then. Perhaps next time I'll say hello, yeah? Make the ladies jealous of me because I know you," she paused, "Or, at least, I want to know you."

"Well," Darian murmured, and lowered his eyes in an imitation of modesty. "I am sure no one would mistake me for an average ginger." It was true. Blondes might have more fun but redheads had it hotter. Everyone liked a redhead, especially one so generally well-dressed and charming as he. But then his eyes raised to hers again, a single brow quirked. "Surely not. Waitresses, after all, deliver such delicious things. Where do you work? I'll come visit you some time."

But in her next breath she'd already told him, and Darian tilted his head to the side and nodded. Madame Puddifoot's was a garish little operation, but Darian could recognize the calculation inherant in its kitsch charm. "Right, yes. A niche market for besotted lovers. What things you must see working at a place like that."

"Or, at least, I want to know you."

His smile was instinctive, surprised, sending out a jolt of genuine warmth at the laughing white flash of his teeth. She was a charmer too, it seemed. So direct. So appealing.

"You know where to find me, Columbine. Come make the ladies jealous any time - this time - right now? We could go for something a little more substantial than ice cream." Lured into believing she'd be most receptive, Darian tempered his smile into something slower, sweeter, more... wicked. Dinner drinks or straight to the bedroom, Darian didn't much care, although like all men he was somewhat biased towards one of those three lovely options. All right. Heavily biased. But he'd do drinks too with this auburn-haired beauty, in her "normal" clothes that covered hardly anything at all. Darian liked people even if they didn't end up in bed with him, and the lure of someone new to converse with was too strong to resist. He could happily listen to her life, her dreams, her favorite brand of shoes - everything with equal and vivid fascination. He wanted to know it all. People were such interesting contradictory puzzles.