The Inkwell, Knockturn Alley.

If Raizel had had to prepare a mental image of the owner of Knockturn Alley's resident tattoo parlor, she would never have suspect the large German man that she knew owned and operated it.  The front room of the Inkwell was small and cluttered, with enough crowded shelves and limited confines to inspire claustrophobia in the susceptible or ill-prepared.  There was nothing daring or ominous about it; the faint smell of potpourri still hung in the air as she pushed the door open, bringing memories of old ladies and summers long past far more than it did ink or piercing needles. 

Raizel wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside, letting the door close carefully behind her.  Invitations aside, she hadn't quite made the time to stop into the tattoo parlor on any of her past trips to London.  Visits to England had been few and far between these past few years; with any luck, they'd stay that way, no matter what her employers at Gringotts might prefer.  It had been many months -- over a year -- since the last time she'd encountered Dietrich Eisenberg, and there were only so many more times that she could make up an excuse as to why she hadn't bothered to step in.

At first glance, the room appeared to be empty; Raizel almost thought that she had missed her chance for the day.  But as the door closed, a dark head popped up somewhere among the back tables, revealing a blinking receptionist who squinted in her direction as she attempted to orient herself after the unexpected entry.

Raizel raised her eyebrows, flashing the woman a winning smile.  "Good afternoon," she greeted her politely, her eyes traveling over the other witch's body and back up again.  It was bordering on the evening, really, but there was no quibbling over it; until the sun had firmly set, she'd cling to her own definitions of time.  "Is Herr Eisenberg in?  I don't have an appointment," she added pointedly, her eyes flashing to the large book that the young woman was lugging about.

Dietrich set down his wand, staring at the purple speck of ink that had just been etched into the back of his customer's hand. A purple speck within the outline of what was clearly a maple leaf. The witch who sat cross-legged across from him in the Olive Room gave him a wry look: "Now I know that isn't supposed to be blue. Red. Red like my hair." He glanced up at her with an equally unamused expression and breathed out heatedly. Olive had forgotten to take the blue out of the apparatus and he'd added the red ink into it...

"It's a nice shade of purple," the wizard murmured as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. Removing an inked mark was nowhere near as easy as inscribing one and honest-to-the-Gods, he did not want to see this lady in here again. But some pains couldn't be avoided. Dietrich hauled himself onto his feet and moved behind the tattoo chair, opening one of the drawers noisily. He picked out a small glass bottle from a selection of similar ones. It was filled with a clear, electric blue liquid. "Apply this twice a day for the next two days and then come on back here," he told his customer in a slightly strangled tone as he passed it to her: "I'll mark ya for free." The witch stood, took the bottle haughtily and then marched out of the room without a word--nearly bumping into Lana, who popped in with a small smile on her face.

"Herr Eisenberg!" His girlfriend exclaimed in a mock German accent. It was cute, really, but Dietrich frowned at her anyway: "Excuse me?" Nobody called him that anymore.

Lana's smile widened and she leaned her head against the door frame: "That's what I wanted to say. There is a pretty woman upstairs asking for you..." she folded her arms, giving him a pointed look that didn't look very serious but Dietrich knew better: "Mysterious blondes from the past. Do I have anything to worry about?"

His frown broke into a good humoured laugh and he walked over to the tiny receptionist, slipping an arm around her waist. "Never," he grinned as leaned down and kissed her on the nose, "I'll go see what's up. Do you think you could empty out the tank? I'll explain later." Lana wasn't the jealous type, fortunately, and shooed him up the stairwell after another quick kiss. He was still smiling when he climbed up onto the landing.

"Raizel!" Dietrich recognized his visitor instantly. It was incongruous, seeing the cursebreaker in his dusty parlour after having last seen her when he was in Manhattan. She was the prettiest cursebreaker he'd ever met and the artist suddenly realized why Lana gave him that look. The idea tickled him. He moved to meet Raziel Cohen, extending a hand and then pulling her into a friendly bear-hug: "What are you doing in this neighbourhood?"

Busy with appointments or not, it hadn't taken the brunette long to fetch the proprietor.  The tattoo artist's greeting was as warm as the receptionist's had been cautiously wary.  Raizel returned the bear hug with a fierce grip of her own, laughing as she stood on her toes to give the man's cheek a chaste kiss.

"Business," she replied ambiguously, flashing him a quick, mischievous smile.  As much as anyone she'd met, Dietrich Eisenberg understood the need for vagueness; he had his own affairs that she'd never pry into.  "But it has been so long since I've had reason to visit London that I couldn't pass up an opportunity to visit Die Spinne.  I hope you'll forgive me for stopping in unannounced."

Stepping back, she gave him a warm smile, shifting her gaze critically to the interior of the parlor.  As much as the shop was, there were plenty of things that it wasn't.  The dried flowers and cluttered shelves seemed incongruous with what she remembered of his old studio back in the United States.  It was as if the German had only recently moved in, had not yet had time to put his own touches on the parlor -- though she knew he'd been there for almost a year. 

"So this is what's drawn you away from New York?" Raizel asked teasingly, though she couldn't prevent the hint of a critical undercurrent. From what she had been able to tell, Dietrich had had plenty to envy back in Manhattan.  He'd been successful, respected, independent -- he'd built his own clientele base and a burgeoning reputation through years of connections and hard work.  Leaving that behind for this dusty franchise that still had the fingerprints of its prior owner all over it was not a decision that she'd ever understand. 

Even so, she couldn't judge the artist for it.  He looked well; at least as far as first appearances went, he seemed happy.  There was no telling what else had driven his move to London.  As long as he seemed to think it was for the better, she might not understand, but she wouldn't doubt.

"The flowers and candles are a nice touch," she remarked, giving a relenting smile that took any prior sting out of the words.   "It is very you, Dietrich.  I'm disappointed that there isn't more pink, though," she added, reverting back to her original teasing tone.  "How is business?  Are your clients here in London enough to keep you busy?"

Dietrich was, no doubt about it, pleased to see Raizel. But his fear of meeting any old acquaintance from the States, was entailed by their impression of The (darling) Inkwell. It had been difficult to explain to the Manhattanites what exactly was the driving force behind his motivation to up and move to England. New York had been homely... his flat, work, friends. Gods, even the neighbours . But nothing could beat his mentor, Marlene.

He would have crossed oceans for her: and in the end, he did. He crossed one really big pond for that witch.

"The flowers and candles are a nice touch," Raziel was saying with a smile that didn't match up with her words: "It is very you, Dietrich.  I'm disappointed that there isn't more pink, though," she teased and his grin only grew at the idea. Pink lace curtains and some ribbon. He was sure that Lana and Olive would love that. After they lit their candles and started serving tea to his patrons, 'course. Flowered teas.

"How is business?" The cursebreaker (thankfully) moved away from the subject of decor, "Are your clients here in London enough to keep you busy?"

Dietrich nodded at this, gesturing to one of the tables at the back of the parlour and indicating that they sit: "Something like that. Been a li'l busy with my underlings, too. One marker and a fella who's good with the needles." He used his foot to pull out a chair for Raizel and then dropped into the one across: "Aside from him, I'm surrounded by women here. Not that you can't tell." A motion was made to the reception table, where a vase of dried flowers proudly stood.

"It ain't easy starting over again but the place is growing on me." The wizard said this with a note of finality as he shifted his attention back to his friend, blue gaze narrowing perceptively: "You look well, Raizel. I'm glad you dropped by actually... if you have time later, there's a cupboard in the back that might be of some interest," he grin turned crooked, amused: "But I'll save that for later. How have you been lately?"