It was five past midnight in the Signature's bar, and Darian Morgan was in his element.

He wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up all rumpled and fine, which shone like a beacon under the blueish lights. His pants were black leather; a chain or two swayed, his fingers clanked heavy with rings, his shoes gleamed reddish-black. He fit right in with the nighttime crowd, a stranger with a smile that made him worth the second look. It was on that second look that one might notice the fit of his pants, slung low, worn smooth, or the softness of his shirt as he brushed past on his way to the bar. Tailored well - worn well. And then to notice the rest of him - lean limbs, laughing mouth, wild red curls and hungry eyes - was to be drawn to the crook of his finger and his knowing gaze.

But this ensemble seemed positively boring for Darian; the brightness of his white shirt against a sea of nightclub black must barely be enough to satisfy his refined and ravenous tastes. He was normally all flash and dazzle and silvery sly, and many who did not understand his psychology wouldn't know that he did have his reasons for his choices tonight. Darian was unusually enamored of texture at any given time, and sometimes - for this - his hedonistic urges were given free reign. There was a sensual physicality to leather and soft cotton; even if it did not sheathe so appealing a body, the nature of his clothing invited another's touch.

And it made him feel good, and in a place like this where confidence was everything, wasn't that all that mattered?

But there was no crooking of his finger tonight. Darian was waiting. He snagged a stool at the well-lit bar and dragged his pretty gaze across the tables and the door. There weren't many people in his way. Like most weekends the real party was downstairs in the club proper and the burlesque theatre; those who wandered up here stayed long enough to get away from the music, or to get picked up, and then they left again.

Outfit //

The Quidditch match had cancelled classes, and the bloodiness of the game had proved quite entertaining. As well as distracting. Much to his quiet horror, Tapendra had departed Hogwarts only a few moments before, having looked at his calendar and realizing he was late to his appointment. He'd almost forgotten entirely. Most of him felt bad, but a small part of him was telling him he was walking into something he didn't want to.

Unsurprisingly, then, his clothing was nothing remarkable. A t-shirt, jeans, hooded sweatshirt; his standard attire when the tower got cold, really. He hadn't had the time to change, and given it was a bar...

His bare feet padded across Signature's flagstones as he headed towards the bar in question, half-consciously trying to get his messy hair into some semblance of order and wiping off his glasses.

He liked Signature, overall, and heading away from the deep thumps of music to the much quieter bar was odd. The few nights he'd been here, he'd stuck to the party. Going down the back halls of Signature brought back memories of that first night with Dolly.

He stumbled into the bar, trying to put the thoughts of her from his mind.

"Morgan," he said, having taken a moment to spot the man. To his genuine surprise Darian was not dressed in electric orange or anything flamboyant. Well, for him, anyway. He still looked rather like some sort of red-headed swashbuckler, or a thin version of a romance novel cover. Still, for Darian, it seemed rather laid-back. He wondered what the man's pajamas looked like. Silk, no doubt, but the man had to dress like a...normal person sometimes, didn't he?

"I'm sorry, I got caught up in work," he confessed, sitting at the next bar stool over and drawing his wand, cleaning his feet off. "The exams are soon, and the armillary sphere isn't cooperating at all." As if that totally justified it, but still.

"Anyway, you weren't waiting too long, I hope." He smiled nervously, expected to be either told off or pouted at and hoping he could tell the difference.

Although his manner was as lazy as any African leopard lounging in the sun, Darian's thoughts and eyes were silver-quick. He spotted Tappy as soon as he entered, an easy task when his awaited rose head and shoulders from the already-sparse crowd. But as Tappy padded forward Darian had to turn his face away and close his eyes for a moment, the corners of his mouth tugging up in helpless amusement as he muttered into his palm, "Bare feet in a bar..." By the time Tappy reached him he was quite composed, his eyes not even flickering to where Tappy had begun, after sitting, to - get this - clean them.

"Tapendra," he greeted with a brilliant flash of those unnaturally white teeth. His soft-voiced innunciation was both caressing and purposeful; a reminder, along with the pointed edge to that smile, of his previous requests to call him by his given name. But besides that pointed edge he seemed happy to see Tappy, and tilted his head and spread his hand in cheerful invitation.

It had been almost a month since he'd seen the Astronomy professor, but every detail of their few encounters were burned indelibly in Darian's greedy mind. And why not? Tapendra's connections made him interesting. First met with Landis, first heard of from Dolly - teaching at the school where Darian's cousins roamed - and fresh from the Muggle world, its breath still clinging to him in some insubtantial, inexplicable way. New, then, and fascinating because of it. Darian did get so tired of old things, and everyone in the wizarding world was old old old. Tapendra, innocent and exotic Tapendra, had such potential to be anything but dull.

Not that he didn't stand on his own merits, too, on things so silly and integral as physical presence. Graceless as a gosling but so finely and broadly made; no more special than any of a dozen men, perhaps, and less beautiful than a dozen more or so women, but enough to catch Darian's interest. Especially because he had caught Dolly's first. Any friend of a friend was his as well, and instantly vulnerable to a spot of light victimizing.

Or idolizing. That was just as likely. In this case Darian was struck with the deep and passionate interest that took him in its clutches sometimes and swept him to and fro; without feeding the beast might die, but it had been a month already and still warmth lingered in his eyes when he looked at Tappy, so it had a while to go yet.

And Tapendra was just a man with dirty feet. Darian thought he might like to change that.

"Oh no," he said, as his mind roiled and spun. "Not at all. I entertained myself well enough in your absence. I suppose it is the risk in wooing an Astronomy professor." He smiled gently, inviting Tappy to share in his little joke. "Now what will you buy me, to recover your debt?"

Tapendra winced, slightly, at the pointed edge to Darian's voice; but then the man smiled it off and didn't seem upset. Tapendra maintained his own smile, still a bit nervous, not sure what to say; talking to Darian was difficult, to say the least.

Then Darian spoke of wooing him, and Tapendra's expression went carefully blank as his mind searched desperately for exit routes, screaming the whole time. The bathrooms didn't have windows, so he couldn't excuse himself and climb out of it. The suites had windows, but he'd have to break in, and he wasn't sure which ones were unoccupied - maybe he could say something about going to the dance floor, but Darian would probably follow him. Maybe he could lose him in the crowd -

Then Darian's joking smile caught up with the rational part of Tapendra's brain. He laughed, nervously. "Ha ha," he said, adjusting his sweatshirt to make it cover more of him. It was an almost involuntary action. "Yes, well..." He wasn't sure what to say.

"Um, anything you want?" he asked, looking at the bartender pointedly so the man would come over. "I don't know what you normally drink." And buying him a plain beer might be some faux pas he wasn't aware of. And getting something like a Fuzzy Navel might be considered insulting for other reasons.

With the bartender there, Tapendra just got himself a beer and downed half the glass in a few gulps. He'd need it.

Although his expression was nothing but open and friendly, something about the amused glint on his eyes implied that inwardly Darian was snickering.

"Ha ha," he agreed, his grin growing wider as Tappy clutched his sweatshirt like a chastity belt. In an interesting display of what Darian could only assume was prompted by the urgent desire for liquid bravery, Tappy raised his pint glass and sucked half of it down. Darian watched with the vaguely impressed quirk of a ginger brow but only said, "G & T, please, a double." (He'd bring out the more exotic ones later.) The bartender, a quick man, slid him his glass. After a moment to drink at a more sedate pace, Darian turned to Tappy and inquired with an expression as polite as could be,  "So, what in Merlin's name is an armillary sphere?"

Gin and Tonic. Simple and...classy? Tapendra would be the first to admit he wasn't actually up to date on what counted as a classy drink.

Then Darian turned to him and asked a question he hadn't been expecting. Most wizards either knew what the things were, or just smiled politely and ignored the things and hoped he'd shut up about them.

"It's an Astronomy tool. Bloody useless one, except at Hogwarts, apparently..." He sipped at his drink some more, his eyebrow quirked slightly at Darian in cautious curiosity. "It's a globe with a ton of bronze rings around it. There used to  be a huge one hanging from the ceiling of the Astronomy classroom, you remember? It's that, but smaller, and more useful." Bloody huge decoration, really. The house elves hadn't been too pleased to see it go, but at least they couldn't say no.

"You use it to determine where heavenly bodies are at specific times of the year," he said, pausing at the use of the ancient term and flushed, slightly, assuming automatically Darian was going to laugh at him. "The Sun and Moon. Venus. That, ah, that kind of thing. It takes about 30 minutes to set up, but they expect the students to know these things. And they can only do down to a day. A day! And those are the good ones. They can only really give you a vague idea and they're insanely complex to work with."

He shrugged, finishing his first glass of beer. "It's a beautiful thing visually, you know. But it takes 30 seconds to do the same thing with a computer and the computers can do it for basically anything, and down to seconds..." A shake of the head, and he got his beer refilled. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you'd prefer I shut up," he said with vague laugh. "How did the shoot go over?" He asked, offering Darian another route.

"Ah!" Darian snapped his fingers. "Yes, I remember - Sinistra did have a huge one. Took up most of the tower. Is that what it's called? We didn't mess with it much past third year." He paused and added, "I don't think she trusted us," with the thoughtful wistfulness of one whose class may or may not have been along the same destructive lines of Hogwart's current first years.

He listened with every appearance of intent and patient care, lips parted in concentration, but was frowning by the time Tappy finished. "Computers?" he asked, with not confusion in his voice but a dismissive familiarity impressive for a wizard. "That's hardly an option at Hogwarts, for all the ease it'd gain you. But tell me Tapendra, why is the sphere even important? Or the computer calculation, for that matter. I've heard from any number of people - you know what a controversy you were at first - and from my cousins in your classes about your scientific approach. The location of heavenly bodies doesn't seem to be much of a primary concern, other than its inclusion in the upcoming exams."

"I'm sorry, I'm sure you'd prefer I shut up. How did the shoot go over?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I preferred that," Darian said easily, and took another leisurely drain of his drink. It was almost gone already - for it was not a big glass, and Darian drank deep. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, tasting minty-sweet juniper masking alcoholic heat, before he answered. "Wonderful. I got it down to 8 shots, and if they don't like it they're certainly not going to tell me so. When Darian Morgan hands you an editorial, you do not complain." His tone was laced with just enough good-natured self-depreciation to keep from being unbearably smug; he shot Tappy a sly sideways look and a shrug. "I can't see how they wouldn't, no? The June edition of MagicMODE will be out in a couple of weeks, and I anticipate a sharp rise in sales."

He had been in the business long enough that nearly everything he touched turned to gold. Five years might not seem like such a long time, but there were not so many magical designers as there were muggle ones and he had become well-known quite quickly. Notoriety did not always equal profit but - in Darian's case, with his care and his shrewd business mind - it did. Now, the profit was not as large as he'd like, what with the turnover in purchasing new (and the best) materials with which to work, hiring models, advertising, paying his assistant, and paying his rent; it was funny how people assumed he was filthy rich. (He supposed he might have helped that impression a bit.) But every year he could get away with charging more, and of this fact he took gleeful advantage. His new cloak with its stunningly high price would swathe him in material comfort for months after each and every one he sold. Tapendra, with his heart-stopping height and his inspiringly distant glare, might propel him that final leap into becoming a truly rich man.

He quirked an eyebrow at Darian's casual mention of computers, with no sense of unfamiliarity. Perhaps Darian was more muggle than the rest of his brood, then...

"They're expected to know how to use the basic Astronomy tools. Diviners use them, mostly, if you're wondering about practical use - and wizard Astronomers still use them. As for the computer calculation - it's used for any number of things, honestly." He ran a finger around the rim of his glass as he considered. "Determining the orbits of independent travelers. Explaining events, following planets, stars, galaxies. Figuring out where to point my telescope and when sums it up nicely, really."

He smiled slightly at Darian's comments, looking thoughtful. "And young wizards do not need History of Magic to function; they don't need to know how old the Earth is, or where we came from, and can live their lives happily without it. But knowledge is never a useless commodity. You might never put the knowledge to practical use, true. But you're worse off without it. Imagine looking into the night sky and knowing nothing at all about its contents!" He chuckled, vaguely amused by something, but he didn't speak of it.

"That's good, I suppose, that it went over so, ah, so well," his tone was suddenly more hesitant. When he'd spoken of knowledge and science his voice had been confident, eager and honest; the moment they got onto his photographs it wavered.

"Congratulations, then, on your future sales?" he suggested, as the bartender refilled his glass. He lifted it, in a toasting gesture. "May you find yourself a model that actual suits your line?" He suggested.

"No, I meant - " Darian flapped a hand, dismissing what he'd meant. "Nevermind. I suppose it is only that one hears so much about the science that it's easy to forget that you are an Astronomer as well." His gin and tonic finished, he summoned the bartender to order a milk stout with the air of one who was fully prepared to drink his way through the entire bar menu according to what currently suited his mercurial taste.

"And do you suffer from this lack of a computer to assist you in said pointing?" he inquired mildly. Darian had only a basic grasp of computers, which was more than most wizards and therefore commendable. What was less commendable was that he only knew what he did because every muggle he shagged seemed to own one of the mysterious things, and Darian was perfectly willing to make them show him how every single object in their house worked right down to the dishwasher and the electric plugs. It was not much to his credit that, no matter how skeptically they explained to him things like "wires" and "programming," Darian suspected computers to be deeply complicated magic. But he knew how to take the mouse and click on the screen, and how to type at a keyboard, and he knew what they were capable of if not the depth nor the method.

"Mmm, well, I'm not about to disagree with you on the value of knowledge gained and knowledge used."  Knowledge was power, and all that. Darian personally was not the type to look up at the stars and wonder; his acquiring of knowledge was for other, less scrupulous purposes. But he would never condone placid passivity nor willful ignorance, and he had such scorn for fools.

The change in tone was obvious, Tappy's mild discomfort with an area unfamiliar to him equally so. Well, that was all right. Darian was perfectly willing to talk about science and whatever else his professorially drinking partner wished. He had very little knowledge in the area, but he was always willing to learn.

"Congratulations, then, on your future sales? May you find yourself a model that actual suits your line?"

Darian laughed, but clanked his glass against Tappy's. "Don't be so modest!" he said cheerfully, and waited until Tappy had raised his drink to his lips before purring, "You were gorgeous."

Tapendra flushed, realizing he'd gone off on a it of a tangent. "Sorry," he said. "I get...excited about that kind of thing, and so many people aren't interested or don't really want to listen, so ..." He trailed off, hopelessly, his dropped sentence conveying more than finishing the thought might have.

He was raising his glass to his lips, drinking of the toast, when Darian's words hit him. He made a sound, halfway between a disbelieving squeak and a laugh - and shot beer out his nose.

Aside from the look he got from the bartender, his nose hurt - but not as much as his fragile self-esteem, which had taken a bit of a kick. His face burned as he found a napkin and started to clean up, only remembering his wand after a few moments. The fact a few soft laughs rung out from the other patrons didn't help, and the tall man's body language reflected his burning desire to turn invisible. He did everything that'd make him smaller, drawing his knees up and hunching his shoulders down.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, as he cleaned the bar, himself, and tried to see if any had wound up on Darian. He found the napkin an excuse to hide his face as he got the burning embarrassment under control. "I didn't get any on your shirt, did I?" he asked, his tone conveying his near-certain knowledge that that shirt was probably worth a month's pay.

Wiping his aching nose, though, his flushed expression grew more serious. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I don't mind," he said, and sounded like he meant it. "I'm rather fascinated by this stuff. And it's not like it's common knowledge, is it? No, I'd like to talk to you."

He could come on stronger - say that there was no one quite like Tapendra, no one with quite his knowledge or his mind - very true, very valid, and about as subtle as a brick to the head. He mustn't scare the professor off so soon. He'd wait until Tapendra was a little more impaired before pulling out his "direct and dazzling" routine. And as he'd said, he really didn't mind. If he found the topic interesting Darian soaked up knowledge like a sponge, and in the right mood, he was nature's most fond, attentive audience. It was fascinating what made other people tick - their passions, their interests, they were contagious in the extreme. 

'Course, teasing the man was proving an addictive vice. It was with immense satisfaction that Darian watched Tappy squeak, choke, and drip beer from his long narrow nose.

He began to laugh - softly, amused - as Tappy spluttered and flushed and fulfilled every one of Darian's expectations right down to the covert check of his companion's expensive clothes. Tappy hunched his shoulders like a frightened deer and Darian's laughter turned lower, coaxing, come on, don't cringe so. He leaned on the bar and eyed Tappy with an indulgent sort of patience, laughter falling dim into the upwards curve of his wide red mouth inviting a conspiratory ease.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Darian gave him a slow, open, sunny grin. "No," he lied easily, and dragged a finger around the edge of his glass. After a moment or two: "Well, all right, yes. But come on, Tapendra, you're projecting unease like a high-profile prison security fence. Relax, take a drink, and a compliment or two. I've got my editorial to celebrate and you've two days without classes. I'd say that's worth a little something."

The laughter didn't help much, at first. He still fidgeted, flushed, and gawked at Darian, graceless as ever.

But, finally, Darian's coaxing words and roguish smile earned a soft laugh from Tapendra, and once he'd laughed he didn't seem able to stop, laughing softly and patting his chest. "Alright, fine," he said. "It's because you're..." He'd stumbled into bad territory, and the sound of his brain reversing and looking for another route were nearly audible. Darian was...well...he'd considered it before, but the man was charming. Just...in a way that made Tapendra rather uncomfortable.

"I'm not used to dealing with people like you," he said, and quickly added on to that, "You know, fashionable. Socialite..ish, whatever the male version is. Rich pureblooded wizards who know what computers are and have a sense of humor." Men who eyed him like that was also not something he was used to, but he wasn't going to menton that incase he reminded Darian and he started doing it again. "Redheads who dress like something off the cover of a romance novel," he added, with what might have been a hint of a smirk. "And aren't Dolly," he added, but even the mention of her made his shoulders slump. Dolly. He couldn't even begin to know what to do about that.

Drinking his beer again, he smiled slightly; the barest hint that h e was getting a little tipsy starting to show in his flushed expression.

"And I'm not broadcasting unease!" He added, far too late to deny it, but finding grumbling playfully at Darian the easiest way to distract him from the thought of the Authoress. "You've just got me out of my zone of expertise."

Aha. Nothing changed in Darian's face, but in his chest the seed of the Tree of Knowledge sprouted and grew. It didn't matter what Tappy had stopped himself from saying - it was not the specific bitten-back word that Darian reveled in, but the intent. Tappy had unexpectedly revealed something about himself that he probably hadn't meant to give; for all that he threw sexuality in other people's faces, Darian was rarely wrong in these matters. And even if he was, he prided himself in thinking these looks and silver tongue could tempt a holy saint. In leather pants, he'd set that success rate higher. If the fall of an angel sparked from his slick-clad hips, an ordinary man wouldn't be hard to lead to doubt.

He let the incredulous, delighted smile steal over his lips, and kept the wickedness out for now. "I'm not!" he laughed, putting a hand over his heart and clenching fabric tight in false outrage. "I'll have you know I am dressed far more decently than anything you'd see on a romance cover. Look, my chest is all covered. And I am minus one swooning woman. Now, don't rush to volunteer; I draw the line at you in a bustle."

He took a sip of his stoat, thoughtfully, then drawled, "I do suppose most men my age are an awful bore. There aren't so many of us not in Auror training or captured for the sake of the children at Hogwarts. I think I am the only young man along all of Diagon with a business."

He cast a long sidelong look at Tappy, eyebrows raised in polite wordless inquiry as to his opinion. This new edge of playfulness was appealing, but unexpectedly soon. He had not expected to see Tappy relax voluntarily until at least his third or fourth or fifteenth drink.

Tapendra looked at him in horror...and then burst out laughing again. "I couldn't wear a dress, ever! I'd - I'm -" he said, around the laughter. "I haven't got the cleavage for a cover anyway! You -  you need breasts about to burst from a corset like some sort of watermelon explosion." That had no correlation to why he knew what romance novel covers looked like. No sir. "And the only book I'd even vaguely work for is Taming of the Giantess or...something, and that'd be all about...you know. I couldn't pose for that." His expression grew mockingly serious. "And I'd never shave my beard. I think that'd ruin the effect for most girls, when it comes to pretending to be the girl." He snickered.

"Oh, there's plenty your age you aren't aurors -  they're just rich and stupid," Tapendra said. "They're useless things. Singers, no - never mind, we have use for them, though most Wrock is pretty terrible. Criminals, you're right. Models with no day job. Jobless money-spenders. Socialites." He seemed a bit confused, and his tone had grown fainter after saying models, as if worried that'd offend Darian. "Hogwarts teachers," he added, mostly to himself.

"Whatever, idiots, like I said." He waved a hand. "Maybe I'm just used to assuming they're all scum. That was the case when I was that age. None of them have ever had to find furniture in the trash and think they got lucky." His tone was suddenly bitter.

"I couldn't wear a dress, ever! I'd - I'm - I haven't got the cleavage for a cover anyway!"

"I know," Darian told him solemnly. "That's why I won't stand for it. It's great heaving bosoms or nothing, I'm afraid." He tapped idle fingers on the bar with a flash of rings and a rat-a-tat-tat. "Sorry. I know you were so looking forward to that shoot."

Oooh, so he had a bitter one here. Rich and stupid - that did sound a bit like Darian's type. For clients, anyways, and occasionally to bed. He preferred a person with a little bit of bite, but he wouldn't turn away a pureblood pansy if they asked sweetly enough. The problem he found was that they were all too tempered with the arrogance of their noble blood for him to even consider. Manners were everything, and he knew a few like Tappy described who opened their mouth and could only offend. But that wasn't, strictly, a moron's mistake.

Still, he was insulting Darian's ilk - socialites, models, and such.

"Beauty is never useless," he said, his voice smooth and certain but lacking anger's heat. "Despite what you may think. Nor are educators, so bite your depreciatory tongue."

"None of them have ever had to find furniture in the trash and think they got lucky."

Darian tilted his head infinitesimally to the side, his gaze heavy, dark, and knowing. "Mmm, well," he said idly, "There are other pitfalls. Remember that chair I had in the shoot, the brown leather with all the stuffing leaking out?" He paused as if to confirm that Tappy really did remember, hands clasped loosely at the level of his face and mouth poised at his knuckles as if on the edge of some great revelation. "It belonged to my great-great-Aunt Romilda. I hoisted it out of the attic. It was her second husband's chair but the house elves wouldn't touch it and my family never throws anything away, even when by all rights that chair ought to have been burned long ago. I don't know what she did to him, but I hear it used to be blue." He left a moment for rumination, then shrugged. "But it works out well once the illusion's on it, don't you think?"