16 Jan 2022, 18:55
You're His Now
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this thread is no longer being used to buy draven a pet - instead, it is lore for how Mr. Mirador got his crow.
| ── | 'It's about time you got a pet' Abbadon signed as they walked amongst the old cobblestone pathways which wound through Diagon Alley. It was strange, seeing the two wizards walk side by side. Two house elves trailed them, a cauldron with neatly folded clothing and books stacked high upon it, floating about their heads. The house elves talked louder than their masters, seeming to look down amongst most of wizards they passed by. And why wouldn't they? Even the lowest ranking servants of the Mirador household wore clothes which cost more than most shops in the area. The elves were no exception. Fine tailored tunics and clothes hugged their limbs, petite robes flaring behind them in the wind as they talked amongst themselves. Draven spared them a glance before returning his attention back to Abbadon. "I'd love that," he said quietly, fingers wrapped tightly around the wand in his pocket. "But not from here." Abbadon peered down at his son, confusion knitting his brows. 'And why not?' the man signed. They were standing in front of the Magical Menagerie, golden glow coming from inside the store casting shadows over the slick stone streets. 'There's a rescue right across the street.' Abbadon signed, casting a dark look towards the pet shop. "The animals in there will die if no one adopts them." It was pushing it to say Draven went pale - the young boy's skin was far too dark for that. And yet, it was clear his heart had dropped in his stomach. "I didn't know," he said, looking sick. "We'll go in the Menagerie to buy some food for the pet, because they don't sell it at the rescue. But I don't feel good about getting someone from here." Draven didn't need to be told twice. Letting go of the door handle, he gestured his father to lead the way. 'Iris loved it there' Abbadon signed, a tender smile lighting up the older man's face. 'And you know that owls of hers. Best one I've had the misfortune of bringing home.' It wasn't long before the two men were walking in. It was a shabby place, the inside of the shop lit only by a few solitary candles which were fighting for their life, light flickering with every gust of wind which blew in through the cracked door. Cages of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, glowing eyes keeping the two men under surveillance as they stepped forward. "Are you sure about this?" Draven murmured, watching his father lean his weight on his cane. "It looks like we're about to get hexed." 'I'm sure' Abbadon signed. But he wasn't, not really. Until he saw her. The woman was sprawled on one of the bookshelves which lined the walls, as if she was a cat herself, long skirts draping down her figure and concealing her in the near darkness. She hadn't moved when they'd come in, was content to merely observe them. A cigarette was pulling the corner of her lips downwards, dark red smoke enveloping her figure. She watched them, golden green eyes pinning Abbadon in place. Three shadowy figures. Caught at a standstill. She wouldn't move, wouldn't greet them. Draven knew not what to say. And Abbadon was curious. Which one of them would break first. They stood like that for a long time, the three of them. Peering at each other through sweet smelling smoke which curled in their lungs and brought tears to their eyes. It seemed as if every creature in the room had frozen, eagerly watching the exchange. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Nimra" Abbadon signed at last. They didn't have all day. "Welcome," She purred, sliding down from her perch. What Draven had thought of as a shawl at first, was not a shawl at all. A snake was wrapped around her shoulders, chrome feathers shinning dully as she approached them. "And how may I help you today, gentlemen?" "I'm looking for a friend," Draven said. "Would you be so kind as t-" "Oh but you can't pick your friend, Mr. Mirador." She laughed. A soft, coarse sound which seemed to come deep from inside her tattooed form. "They must pick you." Abbadon raised an eyebrow at the woman. He may have been mute, but he could still get his point across fairly well. 'We are going to do this again?' he asked, amusement flickering over his face. 'Every time, Sir' she signed back. Draven left the two to their devices. Abbadon's friends were peculiar and terrifying nine times out of ten. This one was thankfully, only peculiar. The deeper he got into the shop, the harder it was to hear them. Until eventually, he couldn't hear them at all. Their voices had gone from muffled to barely audible, to simply disappearing, floating amongst Ms. Nimra's colorful smoke. and along with their voices, any sense of direction. It shop seemed to go on forever, cages stacked up so high he couldn't see the top. Most of them were empty. But sometimes, he'd spy emerald eyes peering at him from beneath a table, or from behind a candelabra. There was a new noise now. A constant, soothing hiss. And along with it, the walls seemed to pulse. It's alive, he realized, eyes widening. The shop was breathing. Sitting down on one of the overturned cages, Draven took a deep breath. Whatever Nimra had been smoking out at the front hadn't reached this deep inside. It wasn't clean air that he was met with, and looking back he really didn't know why he'd expected it. Instead, dust and fur filled his lungs, sending into a fit of coughing so loud he might have awoken the dead. Tears filled his eyes as he doubled over, cursing himself. It took an embarrassingly long time for him to find his way back. It seemed like he'd been walking around the store for hours, and yet, no creature had stumbled in his path. In the end, it was instinct more than anything that guided him to the front. Instinct, and the noxious fumes which were still coming from Ms. Nimra's cigarettes. "You're emptyhanded?" the woman chided. While he'd been gone, she'd wrapped the snake around Mr. Mirador's neck, much to his obvious displeasure. 'This is fine arabian silk' he signed, trying to untangle the creature, which had started to slide underneath his cloak. "And?" she demanded, not paying him any mind. "Where's your friend, little draven?" "I didn't find anyone." Draven sulked, trying and failing to ignore his father, who was now desperately trying to get the snake out of his hair. "Why are you torturing him?" Ms. Nimra sighed - a dramatic sound which deserved it's own stage and production set. "He refuses to find a friend for himself, dear. Despite all these years I've spent begging." 'I don't need one,' Mirador signed furiously, using his cane to dislodge the snake and plop it back in her arms. No sooner had he let go of the 50 pounds of white flesh and muscle, that a bird took its place. Landing on Mr. Mirador's shoulder, it made itself comfortable. Mr. Mirador groaned. But where the snake had been slippery, the giant crow who had landed on his shoulder had dug its claws in his fine coat, and was refusing to budge. "I guess he's yours now," Ms. Nimra giggled, crossing her arms at Mr. Mirador. 'I don't want him.' "Well too bad. He wants you. Let me rephrase - you're his now." It was only later, at the Menagerie, when they were birdseed for the crow, that Draven realized what Ms. Nimra had done - because despite all his complaining, Mr. Mirador was stroking the crow's feathers and signing to it, the two having a quiet conversation amongst themselves (even if it was rather onsided). The crow was no pet - it was a friend. One that Mr. Mirador would have to allow into his heart, whether he liked it or not. |
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this thread is no longer being used to buy draven a pet - instead, it is lore for how Mr. Mirador got his crow.
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |