Ducks in a Row PV | L. Machavariani Finished

date: august 2025
time: mid-morning
location: madam malkin


Before she could finish packing for the 'summer camp' her parents had compelled her into attending, Livia first needed to acquire adequate vestments for her introduction to solitude in wizarding society. Her family had acquiesced to her desire to shop, for once, unescorted; her parents, then, brought Julian to the nearby ice-cream parlour, an endeavour in which their partaking garnered Livia's appreciation. Livia waved a quick goodbye before turning on her heel and heading towards Madam Malkin's, her skirts billowing behind her as she increased the pace at which she strode.

As she entered the establishment, slowly letting the door swing shut behind her, what greeted her was not the soft ambiance of moving fabrics, but rather the precise wham of a clothing rack clobbering the ground. Livia stared unabashedly at the intrusion before directing her gaze to the offender—a young man, rather tall, who wore the most garish pink shirt she had ever seen, and seemed to be shouting apologies. Livia fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead directed herself towards a small assortment of black work robes in the back.

The young man in question did not seem to understand the importance of letting staff clean up messes, as he began to busy himself with the problem he had created. His height resulted in a quite massive block in what would have otherwise been an unobstructed aisle, and Livia would never have deigned to step over him. Thus, she stared down at him and cleared her throat.

That he stared up at her and apologised was not unexpected, but Livia still had to refrain from outwardly expressing her annoyance. She inhaled deeply before she spoke. 'Not in my way. However, I must opine that your...' She gestured to his current state where he was half-lying on the ground. '...current predicament mustn't be beneficial to anyone. Haven't you got a wand? Erecto would work rather well in this scenario.'

my ducks?
in a row. ordered.


pathetic.


The girl, though young, was an apt problem solver, just as Cyrus had been when he was her age. He found himself nodding in spite of her holier-than-thou attitude, shooting her a wry, conspiratorial grin. ''Y'know what, young padawan? You're right.'

He stood up to his full height (which did, in fact, tower over the girl's), and he took his wand out from the pocket of his cargo shorts. 'Check this out!'

With dramatic flourishes and wide movements, Cyrus pointed his wand at the mess in front of him. 'Erecto!' he exclaimed, oblivious to the shopgoers that were now staring at him and his youthful accomplice.

He grinned as the structure almost immediately began to move back into place. Accessories hung themselves on the rack, and soon enough, the ground was squeaky clean. His wand gave a small squeak as he tapped it to his heart and gave a well-earned bow to the onlookers. Looking back to the girl, he laughed. 'Now that's what I call magic!'

Cyrus reached back to the accessories rack, realising the cravat he'd wanted to purchase had gone back to its former place on the rack. He plucked it off and glanced at the price tag—it was nothing too outrageous, especially considering the quality of the fabric and the soft blue colour. He wondered momentarily... if he were to send one to Haven, would she think of him every time she wore it? Could women even wear cravats in wizarding society.

He turned to the strange girl again. Given her knowledge of the spell, and how spellcasting had been her first instinct even without an apparent wand, Cyrus decided he would ask her opinion on the matter. Um, miss... what's your name? Anyway, I'm not super in with wizard fashion. You look like you know what you're doing. So... can women wear cravats and stuff?'



Setting: Late August 2025. Mid-morning.
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani

date: august 2025
time: mid-morning
location: madam malkin


No sentiment other than 'peculiar' could even begin to truly describe the bombastic, flamboyant, rather colourful individual that this young man was proving himself to be. Livia stared in dismay as he referred to her as a 'young padawan', whatever that was supposed to mean, and she bit back a grimace when he told her to 'check this out' and began swinging his wand around in horrifically unpractised strokes. If he moved any faster, he would likely break something. However, despite his undisciplined approach, the rack did move back into place. Livia leered at it but said nothing.

The giddy, giggling gremlin almost reminded her of her brother – if, of course, Julian were hardly well-adjusted. Normal people did not burst into giggles like that! And at just a simply-cast Erecto. Certainly if something were to be funny, it was not that. Now, if there were a frog hopping about all of a sudden, Livia would have understood the laughter.

Assuming the unscrupulous homo sapien had encountered peace and tranquility, Livia excused herself to explore more of the shop's fashionable offerings. Although three 'plain black work robes' were inscribed upon the shopping list the school had sent out, she did not deign to acquire just those; she required something tasteful. Her gaze caught upon a green silk scarf, and she reached out for it; her fingers brushed against soft fabric, and she caught a pearl between her thumb and index finger. She did not smile, but she did gaze upon it with balanced intrigue.

The young man's aggravatingly ecstatic tone drew her out of her reverie. Slowly, she turned her head to level a stare at him. 'Livia – and of course,' she said flatly. This man was surely an ignoramus if he thought otherwise. 'But you're not a woman, so why does it matter to you?'

my ducks?
in a row. ordered.


pathetic.


Cyrus was very, very good at not being judgemental. He was so good at it, in fact, that the Livia girl's flat, rude, hurtful response did not make him think any less of her or her surely cold upbringing. To each their own, after all, even if this child looked like she could use a healthy dose of sunshine and rainbows. She was so serious – had she laughed before in her life? Did she even understand the joy of whimsy? Of interacting with others and valuing other humans just as much, if not more, than oneself? Her existence must have been very boring and sad, and Cyrus was determined to make it better. 'Okay, well, I'm not a woman, so I wouldn't know.'

Yeah, yeah. It wasn't a banger comeback. But he was never one for comebacks! In fact, his horrible comeback just solidified the girl's point. 'It's not like you'd know what it's like to be nice to others –' Too harsh? Maybe too harsh. Cyrus gulped, and his cheeks reddened. 'Well, you know. You've gotta buy stuff for others sometimes. It builds character and widens perspective! So I'm wanting to buy my girlfriend some accessories. You do know what a girlfriend is, right?'

It wasn't the girl's surely young age that made Cyrus wonder how much she knew about human interaction. It was the flatness of her voice and the lack of fantastical fun in her actions. By the grace of Twilight Sparkle, he would hardly have been surprised if she didn't know what the magic of friendship was, and this was an utter tragedy that he had to rectify.

'I'm not gonna strongarm you into it or anything, 'cos that's mean, but if you want to try to help me pick something out, that would be nice. Or if you'd like advice on your own clothes – I think a pop of colour could help you out, maybe a hair accessory to bring out your eyes.'



Setting: August 2025. Mid-morning.
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani

date: august 2025
time: mid-morning
location: madam malkin


Had Livia been older than this incredibly rude young man, she would have deigned to inform him that he ought to speak without such a dreadful tone lingering against his words. She opened her mouth, beginning to interrupt the ebullient young man with, 'Well, I simply must opine –' that you are, of course, mistaken, she would have finished, but her verbosity failed her, as he kept speaking. She had no desire to remain still and listen to his promulgations, but, with a sigh, she acquiesced.

Dear Merlin, Livia could hardly recall the last time someone had dared to insult her in such a manner. She grit her teeth instead of gasping. This idiotic excuse of a man knew nothing. Livia opened her mouth, primed to offer a scathing response, but, then, he asked if she knew what a girlfriend was. He seemed relatively open to letting the young girl offer fashion advice. Even if his opinions were a bit too on his sleeve for Livia's fancy, she considered her options, and she decided she did not have anything better to do.

Ignoring his comments regarding her outfit, Livia pursed her lips and began to properly peruse the shop's products. Her fingers brushed over a set of intriguing, mysterious black robes, but, given that the man had already made disparaging comments regarding her outfit, Livia doubted lingering on such an object for too long would benefit her. She shifted her attention to a bright yellow dress and began to scrutinise it. Mr Sunshine was certainly the type of individual who might have liked yellow; if his supposed 'girlfriend' were anything like him, Livia assumed such a dress would suit her fancy. 'Of course I know what a girlfriend is,' she muttered, then adding, 'and, given your ever-bright demeanour, I assume she might like this dress. It is about the colour of a sunflower, and, when tailored, would have quite a lovely fit. Plus, it is not too expensive, although tailoring would certainly lift the price.' Livia paused, momentarily unsure of just how much she wished to assist this young man. However, she did add, 'A pair of dainty heels in a similar colour, or perhaps in black or white, and then a lovely corsage, would certainly make the look. What do you think?'

my ducks?
in a row. ordered.


pathetic.


Despite her awful attitude, the kid sure had an eye for colour theory. Cyrus found himself smirking. 'Not bad, young padawan,' he said warmly. Yeah, that nickname was going to stick. 'But I hate to break it to you... a dress isn't an accessory. I appreciate the thought, though. Now, the idea of a corsage... that's really something.' He did have to bite back a bit of uncharacteristic sarcasm – it seemed those who were uptight really brought out the worst in him – but smiled nonetheless. 'I'm not really sure where I'd find a corsage – or anything to make a corsage with – here. Unless you've got any ideas, kiddo?'

The artist's mind was now at work. He at least had an idea for what his first gift for Haven would be, and even better, it would be something he made rather than bought. Perhaps he could enlist this weird kid to help him. But now that that was mostly settled, he focused his artist's eye upon the girl in front of him. Tall, not quite lanky, covered in layer after layer despite it still being August... 'Hey, uh, Livia?' Yeah, things were serious if he was using her actual name. 'What's your favourite colour? Like, are you okay with something lighter? A nice little sage green or maybe lavender? If you're okay with it, I'd like to build an outfit for you. I want to be a fashion designer, so it's like... practice, I guess. No cost to you, just free clothes. Is that okay?'



Setting: August 2025. Mid-morning.
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani

date: august 2025
time: mid-morning
location: madam malkin


An inability to close his mouth seemed to plague the man. However, Livia's former annoyance had begun to fade, and she took his question about a corsage at face value. 'Well, could you not simply venture into the wild and procure some flowers?'

She – nearly cautiously – folded her fingers together in front of her. Already, she was prepared to offer opportunities for him to search for flowers. Without even knowing the physical appearance of his so-called girlfriend, she surmised it prudent to consider baby's breath, red chrysanthemums and honeysuckle, all of which would suggest ardent love. That was what it meant to have a girlfriend, after all – to love someone so profoundly that you would never, ever let them go. However, before she could open her mouth to elucidate the man, he began to speak again, causing her to press her lips into a skin-whitening fine line.

Twin eyebrows drew upwards as he asked for her favourite colour. She had never truly given this consideration. Taking his words at face value, Livia pursed her lips and contemplated the questions asked of her. 'I quite like butter yellow, in fact,' she admitted, 'though I would imagine it does not align with everything, at least with regard to colour. Of your suggestions, I suppose sage green could suffice, Mr?' Her intonation drew upwards at the end to leave the man room to offer his surname; it had occurred to the girl that he had not yet offered it. 'But, of course, it would be lovely. There is always some sense of tranquility that follows the introduction of an individual to art, of which your "fashion" would be part.'

my ducks?
in a row. ordered.


pathetic.


The young padawan (he would continue to refer to her as that, he thought) asked about going into the wild to acquire flowers. While a wonderful idea, Cyrus nearly reminded her that they were in the cramped, crowded Diagon Alley in central London, where very few natural wildflowers were to be found. Such an endeavour would have to wait until he could frolic in the wilderness, which was not right now. Nonetheless, Cyrus could not help but chuckle at the consideration. 'Well, yes, I suppose that would be possible,' he surmised, 'but I suppose that's a venture for another day. I'm not about to break into Kew Gardens and steal their sage. Stealing is bad, y'know.'

Man, this kid spoke weirdly. Cyrus had to furrow his brow and focus really hard to understand what she was getting at. He didn't think it was a British thing – after all, Haven spoke like a normal girl – but who knew. He found himself nodding at the admission of an affinity for 'butter yellow', a colour which, truly, was quite lovely. He almost found himself saying, 'me, too', but he instead chose to focus on his surroundings. 'Darsel. Cyrus. Uh. Either works,' he said, and then fought back a facepalm. 'First name's Cyrus, I mean. But if you really want to add a Mr, you can say Mr Darsel.'

He couldn't really hide his surprise when she responded more kindly to his query with bright colours. He'd expected the kid to be the type to be straight out of the coffee-black-like-one's-soul meme. 'Well, fear not, Young Padawan,' Cyrus said with a smirk. He lifted his hands to his hips. 'You'd be surprised. Butter yellow and sage green can go great together.'

He couldn't stop a small smark from glimmering in his cerulean eyes when the girl referred to the idea of being his guinea pig with the word 'lovely'. His lips parted, his smile now showing teeth. 'Okay. Then, uh, wait here for a sec. Lemme find something that might be cool.'

There were many attributes to art. Shape, form, texture, weight – the difference between an A-line skirt made of felt or a light, airy tutu of tulle. Colour, value, opacity, hue – the shifts in the green of the ocean, which varied depending on how deep you went. Cyrus still thought there was a human aspect, too – something about personality, how everyone had their own style, how a landscape by Van Gogh was wildly different than one by Aivazovsky. Even filmmakers had their own styles. One could tell a Steven Spielberg movie from one by Christopher Nolan so very easily. So the same applied to fashion. Though the girl had likely come here for a Madam Malkin something or other, she'd end up with a Monsieur Darsel array.

He picked out a butter-yellow blouse seemingly constructed of voile. He squinted at the girl from across the shop, trying to gauge if it would fit. He decided too big was going to be perfectly fine in this outfit. Then, he found a dark brown skirt made of a heavy suede. A pair of beige crew socks would go well with the girl's mary janes. Two bracelets of dainty gold filigree. Then, he rummaged around in his own bag for some ingredients for the final touch. It took longer than he would have liked to thread dandelions through their stems, but once the flower crown was done, he thought it was actually quite charming. The colour of the petals matched that of the shirt.

Cyrus then approached the girl, all the garments balanced along his arms. 'Okay, here we go. There's a shirt. Tuck it into the skirt. Then the socks. They seem pretty comfy, and you can keep your shoes with them. Bracelets will go on your left wrist – yes, both bracelets. And then a flower crown. I know it's goofy, but like, it's also whimsical. Just trust me on this one.' After getting all the words out, he sighed and gestured towards the back of the shop. 'You can try stuff on in there.'



Setting: August 2025. Mid-morning.
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani

date: august 2025
time: mid-morning
location: madam malkin


Livia could hardly tell whether the overly obnoxious blond man was being truly serious when he uttered the words, 'stealing is bad'. Most of what he was saying, at any rate, only seemed imbued with a minimal amount of seriousness. She did not enquire further, though, and instead just let him continue to rattle off words in his funny accent. Only when he stammered over his own name did Livia's carefully-maintained neutrality fade, if only for a moment – her sprig-green irises drifted upwards in a halfhearted eye roll. Despite concern for the man's intellectual well-being (what functional individual did not know their own name?), she would commit his name to memory: Cyrus, or, more properly, Mr Darsel, fashionista extraordinaire.

She declined to question the meaning of the term 'Young Padawan', instead nodding quietly at his words regarding colour. Livia's artistic skill, or whatever there was of it, had never lain in colour. When he instructed her to wait, she did, and she did not distract herself by eyeing various garments or pieces of jewellery near her. No, she allowed her gaze to follow the rambunctious young man as he skirted about the shop. She imagined he might become quite annoying to passersby wishing for quiet, but luckily, she had long forgotten about any such preferences she might have previously entertained.

When Mr Darsel returned, he offered a series of commands. Livia, who had never been one to obviously disobey a figure of authority, moved to comply. She neatly folded the pleasant yellow blouse over her forearm, followed by the heavier brown skirt. She carefully placed the filigree bracelets in her hands. The socks, too. She set the flower crown upon her head. Then, she strode to the fitting area Mr Darsel had specified.

It took but a moment to try everything on. The outfit was simple, but the colours truly did bring out the different shades within her eyes. She had feared teh blouse might make her appear too spindly, but its long sleeves flowed about, making her arms look somewhat more muscular than they truly were. The socks provided a nice, but not jarring, contrast with the skirt. The flower crown added a hint of serenity – perhaps that was what Mr Darsel had referred to as 'whimsy'.

Livia pulled back the fitting room's curtain and stood straight so that Mr Darsel could survey his work. The only thing that had not worked out nearly perfectly was the bracelets. The filigree had not allowed for a tighter fastening, so it hung off her wrist, only just catching itself on the edge of her hand so it did not fall off. Livia attempted to meet Mr Darsel's gaze, lifting her eyebrows in a silent question – is this what you wanted?