13 Jun 2018, 14:09
One-Past o'Clock
11:02AM
___________________________________________________________
Location: Before the Apothecary Shop
Company:
Metamorph: Human features
___________________________________________________________
Location: Before the Apothecary Shop
Company:
Metamorph: Human features
❝It never ceases to amaze me how wonderstruck people could get whenever they took a gander at my pulchritudinous self. I knew what effect I had on the masses; reveled in it even. Curling a slender finger into the loose strands of hair to the side of my face, I brushed them gently to the side and tucked them behind my human ear. Yes. I had made minor adaptations to my physical form so as to not startle the onlookers. This was something I had become quite accustomed to over the years, changing only as much as was necessary. It would not do to detract too much from my glamor, and as such, I only reshaped my ears, softened my otherwise sharp, angular features, and made my hair assume a platinum blonde color rather than the shimmering platinum that it was originally. I found the changes to be rather liberal and something that didn't have me feeling too much discomfort.
Today promised to be unwonted, sui generis even. The warmth the summer sun overhead presented contrasted nicely with the biting yet habitual cold I had long since gotten used to down in the dungeons. Hopefully, I would not have to endure too much of the sun, lest I start to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West as she was confounded by a bucket of water. Arriving at the meeting place before the Apothecary Shop, as I had dictated in my letter, I stood quietly in wait, people watching unabashedly. That moneyed-looking woman bent over a stall picking, choosing, and refusing to her heart's content, or that man shrouded in shade and malintent eyeing her rapaciously, or that other man some ways down the busy street parading wanted posters of the man in the shadows. It all culminated thus.
The tenebrous figure went on the prowl as he encroached ever closer on the woman's position, the target unaware of her would-be fate. So narrow was the man's tunnel vision that he failed to take note of a dog's tail splayed haphazardly before him, and when he stepped on it with his hard soles, the dog did what any dog would do; it barked, loudly and persistently. A child started to wail, the mother tried to hush him, the shaded man's hood fell and the man with the poster took note. "Stop, thief!" The once-hooded man took off at a mad dash, getting closer to my position, no doubt to rush past. "Grab him!" the other man bellowed, and I stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language. Surely he hadn't been speaking to me? As if I would sully my hands touching something as riddled in squalor as the shady man.
As he ran past the hem of his hood brushed against my shin, and it was all I could do to refrain from clutching my wand and casting the scouring charm to clean myself. I could already feel the disease spreading up my leg on its way to my heart. I would die soon, all because he was late! Had my owl not been clear? A minute past eleven, sharp. I had deigned to render an act of providence by offering him the extra minute with which to make his presence known, and this is the thanks I get? Some ragtag hoi polloi marring my quintessence? I heard nothing when the man giving chase blazed a trail past me with a string of expletives in tow, beside myself with displeasure. My face, should one take a look, would do more than declare these words to the world: I am not amused...❞
Today promised to be unwonted, sui generis even. The warmth the summer sun overhead presented contrasted nicely with the biting yet habitual cold I had long since gotten used to down in the dungeons. Hopefully, I would not have to endure too much of the sun, lest I start to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West as she was confounded by a bucket of water. Arriving at the meeting place before the Apothecary Shop, as I had dictated in my letter, I stood quietly in wait, people watching unabashedly. That moneyed-looking woman bent over a stall picking, choosing, and refusing to her heart's content, or that man shrouded in shade and malintent eyeing her rapaciously, or that other man some ways down the busy street parading wanted posters of the man in the shadows. It all culminated thus.
The tenebrous figure went on the prowl as he encroached ever closer on the woman's position, the target unaware of her would-be fate. So narrow was the man's tunnel vision that he failed to take note of a dog's tail splayed haphazardly before him, and when he stepped on it with his hard soles, the dog did what any dog would do; it barked, loudly and persistently. A child started to wail, the mother tried to hush him, the shaded man's hood fell and the man with the poster took note. "Stop, thief!" The once-hooded man took off at a mad dash, getting closer to my position, no doubt to rush past. "Grab him!" the other man bellowed, and I stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language. Surely he hadn't been speaking to me? As if I would sully my hands touching something as riddled in squalor as the shady man.
As he ran past the hem of his hood brushed against my shin, and it was all I could do to refrain from clutching my wand and casting the scouring charm to clean myself. I could already feel the disease spreading up my leg on its way to my heart. I would die soon, all because he was late! Had my owl not been clear? A minute past eleven, sharp. I had deigned to render an act of providence by offering him the extra minute with which to make his presence known, and this is the thanks I get? Some ragtag hoi polloi marring my quintessence? I heard nothing when the man giving chase blazed a trail past me with a string of expletives in tow, beside myself with displeasure. My face, should one take a look, would do more than declare these words to the world: I am not amused...❞
"𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰"
14 Jun 2018, 22:56
One-Past o'Clock
After Thurston had received the owl in the early hours, he had sent the man a reply to it. Of course he remembered the favour he promised the other. The promise of helping him out as long as he would provide him with a monthly batch of potions. He hoped that the owl would reach the other early enough, wondering how long the owl had been sitting on his desk waiting for him to relieve it from the letters weight.
Early that day, he had been dining in his own room, as the ado in the Great Hall would have been too much for him to endure in such bright and early times. So he spent the time in his chambers without leaving it once. Only when it had been time for him to get going, he left his private rooms. Only, to his misery, to be interrupted by a young student with some questions. Not that he answered them, he rather told him off reminding him of the after class hours he held in the afternoons, but it still took an amount of minutes of the time he had needed to be there dead on time.
So when he finally arrived, one minute late, infront of the apothecary shop, of course nothing else but a unamused half elf stood there, waiting for his arrival impatiently, looking ready to kill him on spot.
Early that day, he had been dining in his own room, as the ado in the Great Hall would have been too much for him to endure in such bright and early times. So he spent the time in his chambers without leaving it once. Only when it had been time for him to get going, he left his private rooms. Only, to his misery, to be interrupted by a young student with some questions. Not that he answered them, he rather told him off reminding him of the after class hours he held in the afternoons, but it still took an amount of minutes of the time he had needed to be there dead on time.
So when he finally arrived, one minute late, infront of the apothecary shop, of course nothing else but a unamused half elf stood there, waiting for his arrival impatiently, looking ready to kill him on spot.
Chase the Stars, Fool
15 Jun 2018, 08:08
One-Past o'Clock
___________________________________________________________
Location: Before the Apothecary Shop -> Inside the Apothecary Shop
Company: Thurston Barclay
Metamorph: Human features
§
❝How dare he approach me with such lassitude? How dare he maintain such a sangfroid mien knowing fully well that I was not pleased? How dare he be late?! I had been so specific in my letter, so much so that I had even given him the option of opting out should he feel so disinclined to uphold his end of the bargain. It was he that rendered his services after being caught by yours truly in his attempt at expropriation. I was simply 'cashing in' as one less sapient would say. I watched his approach with a scathing look, wondering why it was that I subjected myself to these levels of torment. I was convinced that the school had a great part to play in my current temperament, and for that I was woeful.
"Have you no shame?! Punctual to steal from me, but dilatory when it comes time to put deed to apols." With a flourish, I gestured with my hand and eyes toward my feet, wanting Mr. Barclay to follow my gaze. "I can already feel the verruca forming." My head snapped up and my sybilline eyes peered into his. "Are you prepared to purchase the copious amounts of dragon's blood that will be consequential to my full rehabilitation?" My behavior was absolutely necessary, despite all the attention I was now foregathering. "Well?" It was possible that I might have been going a bit overboard considering it was only a minute past the set time, but regardless, punctuality spelled interest, and interest I did not gather from his lateness.
I shot the onlookers a withering stare. "Have you people nothing better to do with your lives? Come along, Mr. Barclay." Without conscious thought of what I was doing, I latched onto the man's wrist with slender fingers and started to pull him with me into the Apothecary, getting down to the meat of the matter, that is, what I needed by way of ingredients and why. "I have some very inquisitive students with a penchant for indagation. That's research for the less lexically inclined." I knew not whether he knew what the word meant or not, but either way, I felt compelled to explain. "We have latterly started experimenting on ways to attenuate the resulting effect of a Billywig sting after one has been injected."
The shop, so far, had only three other customers, two appraising the wares and the third seemingly making a purchase at the counter. "Assuming you know what a Billywig sting does, or even what a Billywig is, you will note that for such a test we will require said stings in abundance. I am far too enchanting to be seen hunting the creatures myself and did not wish to abuse your...acquiescent offer of aid. It is such that we find ourselves here in this ramshackle excuse for an apothecary." I was not looking at the shopkeeper, but I could feel their eyes staring menace in my direction, no doubt overhearing my unmitigated derision. "Do you happen to see the stings anywhere, Mr. Barclay?"❞
"Have you no shame?! Punctual to steal from me, but dilatory when it comes time to put deed to apols." With a flourish, I gestured with my hand and eyes toward my feet, wanting Mr. Barclay to follow my gaze. "I can already feel the verruca forming." My head snapped up and my sybilline eyes peered into his. "Are you prepared to purchase the copious amounts of dragon's blood that will be consequential to my full rehabilitation?" My behavior was absolutely necessary, despite all the attention I was now foregathering. "Well?" It was possible that I might have been going a bit overboard considering it was only a minute past the set time, but regardless, punctuality spelled interest, and interest I did not gather from his lateness.
I shot the onlookers a withering stare. "Have you people nothing better to do with your lives? Come along, Mr. Barclay." Without conscious thought of what I was doing, I latched onto the man's wrist with slender fingers and started to pull him with me into the Apothecary, getting down to the meat of the matter, that is, what I needed by way of ingredients and why. "I have some very inquisitive students with a penchant for indagation. That's research for the less lexically inclined." I knew not whether he knew what the word meant or not, but either way, I felt compelled to explain. "We have latterly started experimenting on ways to attenuate the resulting effect of a Billywig sting after one has been injected."
The shop, so far, had only three other customers, two appraising the wares and the third seemingly making a purchase at the counter. "Assuming you know what a Billywig sting does, or even what a Billywig is, you will note that for such a test we will require said stings in abundance. I am far too enchanting to be seen hunting the creatures myself and did not wish to abuse your...acquiescent offer of aid. It is such that we find ourselves here in this ramshackle excuse for an apothecary." I was not looking at the shopkeeper, but I could feel their eyes staring menace in my direction, no doubt overhearing my unmitigated derision. "Do you happen to see the stings anywhere, Mr. Barclay?"❞
"𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰"
15 Jun 2018, 21:20
One-Past o'Clock
Infront of the Apothecary
-
In the Apothecary
-
In the Apothecary
The Professor for Astronomy was, like always wearing casual clothes of the wizarding world. He was not that great fan of robes as some others were, even though he did not mind others wearing them. Still he preferred some tight fitting black pants and an dark auburn coloured pullover over a full wizarding apparel. Though there was a cloak with a hood that he was wearing, while he approached the elf in human features; gone were the pointed ears and whatever hinted on his inheritance.
He did not know what to say, when the other began to rant to him, his scowl only deepened as he just stared at the other, until a smile slipped on his face. ”A good day to you as well, Mister Valtome” He spoke even slightly amused by the potion master's comportment. He did not voice any grievances as he was dragged into the shop by his wrist, the slender elven fingers encircling his carpus demandingly.
When Valtome explained to him a term, that he indeed have never heard of, the scowl returned onto his face. Why was it that the other had such an eloquent vocabulary, while he himself had to deal with the vernacular speaking pattern of every being? He must look stupid with whatever he was saying to the man, not that he cared about another person's opinion; understanding the person he was having a conversation with, was in his interest though.
He kept his mouth shut about the potioneer’s explanation on Billywigs and dried Billywig Stings an ingredient used in brewing potions. He took a look around in the store for them, before noticing something. ”Would you kindly let go of my wrist, Valtome?” he asked in a sotto voce, before he motioned with his head towards a shelf. ”Apparently sold out, they must get the new ones soon enough though-”
Chase the Stars, Fool
16 Jun 2018, 18:38
One-Past o'Clock
___________________________________________________________
Location: Inside the Apothecary Shop
Company: Thurston Barclay | NPC Shopkeeper | 3 NPC Customers
Metamorph: Human features
§
❝It bothered me naught that I was practically engaging in soliloquy. Every word, cogently articulate as they fall from my lips, is sine qua non, another's nolition to hearken de trop and inconsequential. What did flabbergast me, however, was Mr. Barclay's confidential tone apprising me of the fact that I was still holding his wrist. As if I had just been branded, I relinquished my hold with such haste and a finality in my denial to introspect on the matter. Just as he uttered the word 'thought' I was already in the process of soliciting the shopkeeper's attention. "Pardon me, good sir. You seem to be missing a typical stock of dried Billywig stings." The customer at the head of the counter along with the man behind it both stopped and stared back at me with looks of something akin to confusion.
I blinked in their general direction once. "Did I stutter?" The shopkeeper spoke up soon after in a voice that was clearly- "I be a woman missy. Just like you." Color me surprised. The burly figure, the square features, the heavy dotting of stubble around the chin and the subtle but evident smoothing of fur above the upper lip all led to me to believe otherwise. Before I could consider the ramifications of what I was about to say, I gasped aloud, placed a hand before my mouth, recoiled on myself and crinkled my eyebrows, incontestibly flummoxed. "You poor thing! How unequivocally harrowing a tribulation such a denouement must have been for the feminal contradistinction from whom you derived filiation." The man...woman as they would have me believe, appeared veritably scandalized by everything I had just said. But it wasn't a look that screamed "j'accuse!" but rather one that said "je suis confus." My grandiloquent locutions were clearly far too euphuistic for her simple mind to suss.
She didn't seem to be about to let what I said slide, however, already sorting through her mind in an attempt to decipher what I had said. When she felt she had stumbled upon the answer, she started. "What did y-" "Billywig stings, my good lady. You have some, yes?" I cut her off. It would not do to get sidetracked. It occurred to me that I might have been drawing unnecessary attention from the other patrons, for now, all three were staring in mine and Mr. Barclay's direction. I, for one, remained unabashed, traipsing closer to the counter to engage the woman in the staredown she so clearly wanted. Why should she be so shocked? She had mistaken my gender as well and I had taken it in stride rather than turn it into the kerfuffle she seemed so intent on making. "We're out. Won't be get'n anymore for a while." I blinked at her again before lifting my eyes to peer around and behind her, zoning in on the bottles of what were, clearly, dried Billywig stings.
I returned my gaze to Mr. Barclay, motioning him closer with a look to entreaty an audience so as to express my cri de cœur at the woman's sheer lack of customer service etiquette. "I humbly impetrate clemency, but this woman seems to be under the impression that I am an uncultured mompara. I can clearly see the bottles of dried Billywig stings thus." I pointed at the bottles in a box just behind and to the right of the counter. With a heavy sigh and my tolerance levels plummeting dangerously, I waved a hand between the two. 'Mayhaps you will have better luck on the matter?" I stepped aside rigidly, eyeing the woman tempestuously. Oh, Mr. Barclay. Do forgive my dramaturgy. I do sometimes tend to rub people the wrong way, but I refuse to take fault for their lack of joie de vivre. All the world is a stage, after all.❞
I blinked in their general direction once. "Did I stutter?" The shopkeeper spoke up soon after in a voice that was clearly- "I be a woman missy. Just like you." Color me surprised. The burly figure, the square features, the heavy dotting of stubble around the chin and the subtle but evident smoothing of fur above the upper lip all led to me to believe otherwise. Before I could consider the ramifications of what I was about to say, I gasped aloud, placed a hand before my mouth, recoiled on myself and crinkled my eyebrows, incontestibly flummoxed. "You poor thing! How unequivocally harrowing a tribulation such a denouement must have been for the feminal contradistinction from whom you derived filiation." The man...woman as they would have me believe, appeared veritably scandalized by everything I had just said. But it wasn't a look that screamed "j'accuse!" but rather one that said "je suis confus." My grandiloquent locutions were clearly far too euphuistic for her simple mind to suss.
She didn't seem to be about to let what I said slide, however, already sorting through her mind in an attempt to decipher what I had said. When she felt she had stumbled upon the answer, she started. "What did y-" "Billywig stings, my good lady. You have some, yes?" I cut her off. It would not do to get sidetracked. It occurred to me that I might have been drawing unnecessary attention from the other patrons, for now, all three were staring in mine and Mr. Barclay's direction. I, for one, remained unabashed, traipsing closer to the counter to engage the woman in the staredown she so clearly wanted. Why should she be so shocked? She had mistaken my gender as well and I had taken it in stride rather than turn it into the kerfuffle she seemed so intent on making. "We're out. Won't be get'n anymore for a while." I blinked at her again before lifting my eyes to peer around and behind her, zoning in on the bottles of what were, clearly, dried Billywig stings.
I returned my gaze to Mr. Barclay, motioning him closer with a look to entreaty an audience so as to express my cri de cœur at the woman's sheer lack of customer service etiquette. "I humbly impetrate clemency, but this woman seems to be under the impression that I am an uncultured mompara. I can clearly see the bottles of dried Billywig stings thus." I pointed at the bottles in a box just behind and to the right of the counter. With a heavy sigh and my tolerance levels plummeting dangerously, I waved a hand between the two. 'Mayhaps you will have better luck on the matter?" I stepped aside rigidly, eyeing the woman tempestuously. Oh, Mr. Barclay. Do forgive my dramaturgy. I do sometimes tend to rub people the wrong way, but I refuse to take fault for their lack of joie de vivre. All the world is a stage, after all.❞
"𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰"
29 Jun 2018, 13:15
One-Past o'Clock
In the Apothecary
Thurston Barclay watched half in amusement, half in confusion at how fast Fainauriel pulled his hand away as if he had burned himself or got a shock. He simply raised an eyebrow at this action, not even commenting, but sometimes silence says more than words could ever express. First of all why would Fainauriel grasp his wrist in the first place? Thurston had no clue, wasn't even thinking about it as it seems.
The young man with the reddish brown hair and the amber coloured eyes watched on as Fainauriel Valtome began to annoy the obviously insulted shopkeeper by just being his glorious self. For most it probably wouldn't need more but a portion of Fainauriel Valtome and they were ready to quit whatever they were doing. Even the shopkeeper looked close to just losing everything as Valtome continued to talk on in words neither him nor the shopkeeper knew, however Thurston at least understood the meaning behind the words while the shopkeeper, a rather manly woman, kept staring blankly at the elven man.
When the shopkeeper threw a glance at him, her expression screaming for help, Thurston Barclay didn't bat an eyelash before leaning towards Fainauriel.
”You are aware that she understood nothing of what you said?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and his words not audible for the shopkeeper at all.
Chase the Stars, Fool
4 Jul 2018, 02:45
One-Past o'Clock
___________________________________________________________
Location: Inside the Apothecary Shop
Company: Thurston Barclay | NPC Shopkeeper | 3 NPC Customers
Metamorph: Human features
§
❝"She doesn't...understand?" Is this a bad joke that Mr. Barclay felt it prudent to tell? If that is the case then I am not amused. My question was spoken as loudly as Mr. Barclay's observation was not, and so the shopkeeper would surely have guessed as to what was being discussed. Returning my gaze to her, my glabella pinched in a tight frown, I challenged the foolishness with my words. "Surely you jest!? Do you mean to imply that my histrionic was far from enough to make you understand my vexation!? Are you as senile as you are ghastly!?" My voice raised in pitch with each new exclamation, but at this point I could hardly contain myself, punctuating all my words with thespian comportment.
I couldn't have been clearer even if I was speaking just like her. Could I? Could I really? Rather, should I? The woman already seemed to have her pantaloons in a bunch over something as silly as my justifiable mistake of her gender, but she had to have received such assumptions before. Surely I was not the first to tell her the truth? Clearing my throat and taking on a more respectful tone, as if I wasn't already the epitome of respect, I tried again. "I be ask'n fer some Billywig Stings. Them things you got over there." I mimicked her accent and made it far better than she ever could. Maybe now she would thank me rather than take me for a fool. She only glared at me, and I watched her calmly, just as the other patrons watched me and Mr. Barclay closely. One of them, the one furthest from the counter, piped up.
"It's not very polite to come into someone's business place and mock them, young lady." He turned his gaze to Mr. Barclay. "Aren't you her boyfriend? Shouldn't you be saying something to stop this?" I looked between Mr. Barclay and the man, amused to no end at the implications being made. Us? Together? I would have guffawed had the situation not been such a tragicomedy. "Nor is it very polite to obtrude in another's conversation, good sir." I was creating a scene. All eyes were on me and I loved it. Such a show revealed to me that I had not yet lost my touch. I could gather attention in whatever way I pleased. This time it just happened to be through less forthcoming means. It was all the shopkeeper's fault.
I whirled on her again after retrieving the spare change that would be needed, slamming them down on the counter between us and eyeing her expectantly. I wished to be free from this dreadful place. "The sooner you proffer what I have so feverishly importuned, the sooner you shall be rid of me and my confusticating dramaturgy." I too would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. Mr. Barclay, for the most part, had been no help whatsoever. Hadn't he been invited along to be the one in the actual line of fire to procure the ingredients as per my wish? So far he had blended in to the background like a perfect statue, and he was most certainly losing points in my standing for his failure to assist.❞
I couldn't have been clearer even if I was speaking just like her. Could I? Could I really? Rather, should I? The woman already seemed to have her pantaloons in a bunch over something as silly as my justifiable mistake of her gender, but she had to have received such assumptions before. Surely I was not the first to tell her the truth? Clearing my throat and taking on a more respectful tone, as if I wasn't already the epitome of respect, I tried again. "I be ask'n fer some Billywig Stings. Them things you got over there." I mimicked her accent and made it far better than she ever could. Maybe now she would thank me rather than take me for a fool. She only glared at me, and I watched her calmly, just as the other patrons watched me and Mr. Barclay closely. One of them, the one furthest from the counter, piped up.
"It's not very polite to come into someone's business place and mock them, young lady." He turned his gaze to Mr. Barclay. "Aren't you her boyfriend? Shouldn't you be saying something to stop this?" I looked between Mr. Barclay and the man, amused to no end at the implications being made. Us? Together? I would have guffawed had the situation not been such a tragicomedy. "Nor is it very polite to obtrude in another's conversation, good sir." I was creating a scene. All eyes were on me and I loved it. Such a show revealed to me that I had not yet lost my touch. I could gather attention in whatever way I pleased. This time it just happened to be through less forthcoming means. It was all the shopkeeper's fault.
I whirled on her again after retrieving the spare change that would be needed, slamming them down on the counter between us and eyeing her expectantly. I wished to be free from this dreadful place. "The sooner you proffer what I have so feverishly importuned, the sooner you shall be rid of me and my confusticating dramaturgy." I too would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. Mr. Barclay, for the most part, had been no help whatsoever. Hadn't he been invited along to be the one in the actual line of fire to procure the ingredients as per my wish? So far he had blended in to the background like a perfect statue, and he was most certainly losing points in my standing for his failure to assist.❞
"𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰"
6 Jul 2018, 13:15
One-Past o'Clock
In the Apothecary Shop
Thurston nearly had to snort in amusement at the elven man’s reaction to his words. It is as if the silver haired Potioneer was oblivious to the circumstance that the way he spoke was quite… special. He just shook his head as Valtome was quick to trial his words, talking to the shopkeeper. He knew they were getting on the nerves of everyone in this shop, glares were thrown their way- mostly into Valtome’s direction. The glances thrown at him were mostly desperate, silently begging him to make the taller man shut up.
When someone spoke to Thurston, the young man frowned at the other. Valtome, his girlfriend? He glared at the stranger for even suggesting it, how strange. ”If that was the issue, wouldn’t it be a flippant thing to ask me, while calling my company out on a lack of politeness?” He added to Valtome’s words, raising his eyebrow at the man who quickly shut up. With that he turned his attention back to the shopkeeper, who by now seemed stressed to the point of anger that she failed to hide no matter how much she tried.
”Would you please leave my shop now?” She asked of them, glaring at Valtome. Thurston rolled his eyes, finally stopping forward. It doesn’t seemed as if the Potioneer was able to get what he want, not with how he acted at least… These Lion’s must have an influence on him already.
Thurston hummed, getting the attention of the shopkeeper. ”Miss, don’t you think that throwing out one of the best Potioneers known in this time would be bad for the reputation of your shop?” He paused for a few seconds. ”Do you really want to throw out two Professors of Hogwarts? The Potion Master Valtome? One word of him to the Daily Prophet – and we all know how they would love some article like this – and you could close your shop in no time.” Thurston watched in satisfaction as the woman drastically paled, while the people who glared at them seconds ago acted busy.
”M-Mister you don’t needa go that far, right?” She asked, she glanced nervously at Valtome and then back to him. ”The Billywig Stings, Miss” he replied simply and she hurried to grab a few bottles of Dried Billywig Stings and put them on the counter. ”Three galleons, Mister” she said nervously, her shop seemed to be important for her. Thurston quickly paid and saw the shopkeeper looking at him. He raised his eyebrow at her. No word to the Prophet..?”
Thurston smiled, it held no emotion. ”Not a single one” he agreed and turned to Valtome. ”Ready to go?” he asked, handing him the bottles he just purchased.
Chase the Stars, Fool
11 Jul 2018, 08:54
One-Past o'Clock
___________________________________________________________
Location: Inside the Apothecary Shop -> Outside the Apothecary Shop
Company: Thurston Barclay
Metamorph: Human features
§
❝It would seem my thoughts were not nearly as silent as I had believed them to be, for almost a split moment after I concluded my inner berating of Mr Barclay, he stepped forward and took charge of the matter in a manner that had even me raising my eyebrows in traumatism. The woman had just asked us to leave, and in that timeframe that it took for me to open my mouth with the intention of lighting her up with words that would certainly be felt within the souls of her posterity, the man intervened with threats. I dare say, the prospect of being given my fifteen minutes of fame before the reporter sounded deliciously appealing. And yet even I did not wish such a turnabout for this poor lady. This shop seemed to be all she had, and I was far too gracious to oust her from the one thing she knew, no matter how cruel I felt at that very moment. My smile towards Mr Barclay was infinitesimal, one that he would not notice. But it was there.
I looked pityingly at the stuttering woman, and when our eyes met to make four I gave her the most demure, pained look all my years and skills as an actor could manage. It was effective in its purpose to reveal to the woman how heartbroken I felt that she would render such a denial of service towards me unprovoked. An honest mistake it was when I had called her a man. It was not my fault she bore such striking features in semblance to the masculine gender. Surely I could be forgiven the fallacy? I allowed Mr Barclay to do the talking, as he was doing such a fabulous job of it already. It was a quick exchange. The goods were given for the monetary equivalent, a promise was made to keep tight-lipped, and all was right in the world. It was especially noticeable that the other three customers had fallen eerily quiet once Mr Barclay had opened his mouth. Was there something they wished to hide? The mention of the Daily Prophet certainly shut them up rather quickly.
No matter. It all ended thus. Mr Barclay handed me the goods and asked oh so gently if I was ready to go. I looked at the contents in his hands for a spell before looking again into his eyes. "Quite the performance, Mr Barclay. I am appreciably flabbergasted by your flagitious commination. Might I furnish you with a malapropos sobriquet? Loup-garou." I would leave it at that as I accepted the bottles from him and started on my way from the shop. Once we were on the exterior, I inspired deeply, filling my lungs to the brim before forcefully expelling the air. "Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought such joy could be derived from engaging in egress. It is almost as i- Uh!" My back was to the shop door, and I had been so busy paying attention to my own words that I had failed to hear the rushing footsteps before the collision.
The three men that had just been inside the Apothecary Shop were now fleeing the scene as if all the demons of hell were hot on their trail. "Stop! Thieves!!!" The voice was none other than the earlier source of my displeasure. The shopkeeper was out of breath as she ran from the store and yelled words at the retreating forms of the three men, words I dare not repeat. If it was not already made clear, then allow me to explain. There had been a robbery. The men inside the store had seemed suspicious enough, and now I understood why. They were thieves, and they had just victimized the poor man...woman. Tragic. No one made a move to help her, and the men were almost out of sight. "Shall we leave now, Mr Barclay? I grow weary of this dreadful street." Diagon Alley was not the place for me.
I would take a step forward, ready to leave once and for all when the shopkeeper stopped me in my tracks by gripping my forearm in her meaty hand. Her hold was firm, and the rough texture of her hand against my porcelain skin had me wishing I could take a shower right this minute. "What do you think you're doing!?" I snapped, for clearly, she had lost her mind. She pointed down near my feet, and I followed with my eyes. A loud gasp escaped my parted lips before I could reign it in. Right there, having gone unnoticed this entire time, was one of the bottles that had just been purchased. It had shattered and its contents were splayed haphazardly along the stone floor, the wind already stealing the dust. In an instant, my passive resignation morphed into aggressive determination. I had my wand at the ready, and waved it once to vanish the remaining bottles to my storeroom before latching onto Mr Barclay's wrist in a similar fashion as before and running forward in hopes that he would follow along.
"They will pay for their insolence! I will see them rot for this." I was livid, and Mr Barclay was being forced to come along for the ride. We needed to catch those men and fast. They had much explaining to do, and I would not rest until at least two-thirds of them were beneath my heels begging for mercy. They had messed with the wrong Half-Elf.❞
I looked pityingly at the stuttering woman, and when our eyes met to make four I gave her the most demure, pained look all my years and skills as an actor could manage. It was effective in its purpose to reveal to the woman how heartbroken I felt that she would render such a denial of service towards me unprovoked. An honest mistake it was when I had called her a man. It was not my fault she bore such striking features in semblance to the masculine gender. Surely I could be forgiven the fallacy? I allowed Mr Barclay to do the talking, as he was doing such a fabulous job of it already. It was a quick exchange. The goods were given for the monetary equivalent, a promise was made to keep tight-lipped, and all was right in the world. It was especially noticeable that the other three customers had fallen eerily quiet once Mr Barclay had opened his mouth. Was there something they wished to hide? The mention of the Daily Prophet certainly shut them up rather quickly.
No matter. It all ended thus. Mr Barclay handed me the goods and asked oh so gently if I was ready to go. I looked at the contents in his hands for a spell before looking again into his eyes. "Quite the performance, Mr Barclay. I am appreciably flabbergasted by your flagitious commination. Might I furnish you with a malapropos sobriquet? Loup-garou." I would leave it at that as I accepted the bottles from him and started on my way from the shop. Once we were on the exterior, I inspired deeply, filling my lungs to the brim before forcefully expelling the air. "Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought such joy could be derived from engaging in egress. It is almost as i- Uh!" My back was to the shop door, and I had been so busy paying attention to my own words that I had failed to hear the rushing footsteps before the collision.
The three men that had just been inside the Apothecary Shop were now fleeing the scene as if all the demons of hell were hot on their trail. "Stop! Thieves!!!" The voice was none other than the earlier source of my displeasure. The shopkeeper was out of breath as she ran from the store and yelled words at the retreating forms of the three men, words I dare not repeat. If it was not already made clear, then allow me to explain. There had been a robbery. The men inside the store had seemed suspicious enough, and now I understood why. They were thieves, and they had just victimized the poor man...woman. Tragic. No one made a move to help her, and the men were almost out of sight. "Shall we leave now, Mr Barclay? I grow weary of this dreadful street." Diagon Alley was not the place for me.
I would take a step forward, ready to leave once and for all when the shopkeeper stopped me in my tracks by gripping my forearm in her meaty hand. Her hold was firm, and the rough texture of her hand against my porcelain skin had me wishing I could take a shower right this minute. "What do you think you're doing!?" I snapped, for clearly, she had lost her mind. She pointed down near my feet, and I followed with my eyes. A loud gasp escaped my parted lips before I could reign it in. Right there, having gone unnoticed this entire time, was one of the bottles that had just been purchased. It had shattered and its contents were splayed haphazardly along the stone floor, the wind already stealing the dust. In an instant, my passive resignation morphed into aggressive determination. I had my wand at the ready, and waved it once to vanish the remaining bottles to my storeroom before latching onto Mr Barclay's wrist in a similar fashion as before and running forward in hopes that he would follow along.
"They will pay for their insolence! I will see them rot for this." I was livid, and Mr Barclay was being forced to come along for the ride. We needed to catch those men and fast. They had much explaining to do, and I would not rest until at least two-thirds of them were beneath my heels begging for mercy. They had messed with the wrong Half-Elf.❞
"𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞 𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰"
17 Jul 2018, 16:33
One-Past o'Clock
In the Apothecary Shop
Thurston looked at his fellow professor and smiled slightly, acknowledging the words. That was until these last words were mentioned. ”Loup-garou?” He asked only for them to be interrupted, as Valtome did not seem bothered, he would not bat an eyelash either. ”A nickname… Well as this would imply stuff that I would rather keep secret, this nickname should only be used in secret…” He raised his hand, scratching his neck slightly, a sub-conscious move. ”I guess this would be a good time to go to first names?” He more asked than proposed. These situations long forgotten as in the last years he barely spoke to anyone besides the Deputy Headmaster, Ackerley.
When the shopkeeper came out and made Valtome’s attention focus on one of the crushed bottles on the ground, the half elf became angry; once again Thurston was dragged alongside the half elf. Thurston had no pace to keep the other man’s pace. More or less he might be faster without him, but moving alongside him would not be wrong either. ”You will have to catch them first” He said simply, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he looked over to his fellow professor. If he should proof to be not fast enough, Thurston could still make him let go and try to catch up to them.
Chase the Stars, Fool