Coffee, Crypts, and Curses [open]

[misery]

Misery woke up to the sound of jackhammers outside and someone kicking her in the head. After lying there several minutes with her eyes closed, the witch realized it was neither construction equipment nor an assault on her cranium, but the after effects of a binge night of drinking. Cracking open one dark eye, she peered at the offending bottle of rum on the bedside table and groaned.
The noise brought a loud purring from somewhere in the sheets, and then suddenly two sets of paws were kneading biscuits on her arms and legs. She shooed the cats with a wave of her hand. “One more hour, please!” She croaked and pulled a pillow over her head, but the black felines would hear none of that. They took turns swatting at the pillow and leaping on her back until she moaned and sat upright, wiling both eyes open and planting two feet on the cold hardwood floor.

Mumbling all the way to the kitchen she pulled out what was left of last night’s supper and set it on the floor. Both Jinx and Hex scrambled over, twisting around her ankles until she reached down to scratch them behind the ears.

She lurched to the bathroom, shrieking as she stepped under a cold spray in the moldy inn shower, but it was just what she needed to jolt her awake. After turning the water to hot she leaned against the tile wall while the shower soaked into her soul, and she felt a little more human.

After bathing and dressing in a pair of worn blue jeans and a simple cream colored long sleeve v-neck top, Misery pulled a brush through her long chocolate locks, slid into a pair of Birkenstocks and pet both kitties on the head before heading out.
Loa, her large green snake, was no where to be seen. The witch figured he was probably stalking mice in the hotel vents and would come back to the room later with a grotesque lump in his belly; full and happy.

Outside in the cool morning air Misery paused, glancing up and down the avenue while she tied to remember which way she’d seen that little pastry shop.
She was in desperate need of coffee before she started the daunting task of finding a flat that was in her (non existent) price range.

Did they even drink coffee around here?!
Everything abroad was so new and foreign to the witch. It was really going to take some getting used to.

Finally deciding it was either left or right, Misery went right, figuring she would come across the place or have to turn around.
Thankfully she found the little shop a few blocks over, and had her hands wrapped around a nice steaming cup of java by the time her eyes had completely become unglued.
Inhaling deeply, Misery drank in the warmth, letting it reach all the way to her bones. Today would be fine. She would find a place to park her things and soon enough, luck would take her right to her aunt Genevieve. Or...she would have to make her luck. Misery wondered if they had any decent shops around where she could stock up on the components she needed to a decent luck charm.

Clicking her tongue with a purpose, Misery twisted on her heel and set out to find the Diagon Alley the loose tongued inn keeper had told her about. As soon as her dark eyes fell on the Leaky Cauldron, she suddenly remembered it through the rest of the blurry reveries (darn Rum!) and slipped to the back over the building where she proceeded to tap here and there to find the brick to allow passage.

After a few minutes and no success, Misery cursed loudly and kicked the wall. Why couldn’t anything in the place be easy?!

[Silas Rosier]

  Ergh, it was interesting how difficult it was to find a buyer for human bones these days. They still fetched a high price, but it seemed fewer and fewer people needed to brew any potions or perform any other sort of ritual that required them. If Silas couldn’t find a shop to unload them on soon, the simple economics of supply and demand was going to bite him in the arse, and losing money no matter how slight was not a concept that appealed to him.

  Ordinarily he wouldn’t even be up this early in the morning. Silas tended to roll out of bed at the healthy hour of one in the afternoon no thanks to his work hours, but alas, he was out of sleeping potion for the week. Therefore, his usual bouts of insomnia (most likely alcohol related, but Silas would never admit it) had defeated him for the day. He’d given up trying to sleep about an hour and a half ago and just settled into his morning routine while working his way through a bottle of black vodka and several cups of coffee. Wake up. Drink. Exercise. Drink. Breakfast. Drink. Shower. Drink. Make self look presentable. Drink.

  ... All good.

  So, now, here he was in the Leaky Cauldron. Tired, possibly more than a little over-caffeinated, and needing to find a way to get rid of human body parts. At least he’d had the good sense to leave them at home for now, and for once, they were actually legal tender. There was always some poor sod willing to sell his Grandad’s bones as potions or voodoo ingredients for a quick buck.

  Silas massaged the bridge of his nose for a second as he stepped through the semi-crowded pub, trying to stifle the desire to yawn in public. This was going to be a long day, he could tell, but at least errands would keep him preoccupied for a while. He could survive not being able to sell the bones, but if Slug & Jiggers were out of his brand of sleeping potion it was going to be hard work trying to not strangle anyone.

  As he got the back door which lead to the entrance to Diagon Alley, Silas pushed it open silently and drew his wand for the wall, but it looked like he’d been beaten to arriving. There was some brunette there already who poked a few bricks with her wand then proceeded to swear loudly and kick the wall.

  Heh. Looked like he wasn’t the only one having a less than stellar morning.

  He shut the door with a somewhat louder snap to alert her to his presence before stepping down into the little court yard, wand hanging idly at his side. “One of those days is it?” Silas asked with a half smile in a pleasant tone that was well practiced.

[misery]

Misery’s hangover had begun to dull to a mere pulsating at the back of her head; but with all this wall frustration, the throbbing at her left temple was starting to intensify once again.
The opening back home in New Orleans had been so much easier. The whisper of a word at a certain lamppost, and ta-da a faint glimmering at the entrance of Badagris would appear right before you. Muggles couldn’t see the glimmer if it had been right in front of their nose, so wizard folk didn’t bother much with security. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy here. Of course.

She wondered briefly what would happen if she tried to blow up the whole dang thing. Misery was sure the wizards here had thought of that, so with great annoyance and a puff of breath to move some hair out of her face, she went back to her tap-tap-tapping and a useless kick once and again.

The sound of door closing loudly made the witch wince in pain. She whirled around to face the offender; dark eyes wide and accusatory as they drifted down the man’s form and back up to his face again.
His expression was one of amusement, and Misery took offence that his delight was at her aggravation.

His all too chipper voice and beautiful accent graded on her nerves too, but she suspected she needed to get used to that if she was going to find residence in the area. Clicking her tongue, the witch brushed the aggravating lock of hair out of her eyes once more and repositioned the wand hand on her hip.

“It’s too early, I’ve got a headache, and I can’t get the flippin’ wall to open.” She told him with obvious forced cheerfulness. “Oh yeah, it’s startin’ out to be one hell of a peachy day, Cher.”

With that she turned around and tapped with a little more gusto than before, pausing to cast a glance at him over her shoulder.
He looked pretty well-to-do in her opinion, but then again, most people that wore shoes and had ‘sensible’ jobs did.
Misery wondered what kind of money he had on him, and if his wallet happened to be on one of those chain thinger-ma-bobs that attached to his trousers to keep from being pick-pocketed. Dang she hated them things.

“So ya’ gonna’ just stand there an’ watch, or are ya’ gonna’ help me?” She finally asked, blinking incredulously at him.

[Silas Rosier]

  The woman’s response was more than enough to convince him that, yes, it definitely was ‘one of those days’. Pity too, because his own morning had been going fairly decently (enough) until this point. It looked like he was just going to have deal with the fact that anything he said to her was going to be taken the wrong way, especially as she seemed to be insistent on being argumentative. A certain someone clearly needed to get laid more often.

  The accent was curious though, even if it did make her sound a little slow, for lack of a better word. It was some variety of American, that much he could tell, but Silas hadn’t spent enough time in the Southern states to pick up the difference between all the regional variations yet. The term ‘Yat’ was being pulled up from the dregs of his memory somewhere, despite the fact that the word ‘cher’ was, to his knowledge, French. Cajun? No, she didn’t sound like one. Their accents had a different sort of ring to it.

  Before he could say anything to her, the woman turned her back to him rather huffily and Silas raised an eyebrow as he watched her start jabbing at the brick wall once more, despite the fact it was more than obvious she had absolutely no idea where to start looking. Fine, if she wanted to not ask for help and make a fool of herself then she was more than welcome to. The combination of the woman’s manner of speaking and inability to access the alley was enough to make him start thinking that quite obviously she wasn’t from the area.

  “Bottom brick on the left, three up, two across. Tap it three times,” he replied politely, putting his hands behind his back when she practically bit his head off for not jumping to her assistance quickly enough for her liking. He’d just been about to tell her how, if she had of waited a split second before snapping at him first.

  Yes, she was definitely looking for any excuse for a fight this morning. People could be very bizarre sometimes, especially since he hadn’t done anything but ask her about her morning. If watching her wasn’t so vaguely entertaining he might have been miffed at the rudeness, although he had the sense to keep his expression impassive. Lucky she was pretty, or she’d have very little going for her at the moment.

  “Not from around here, I take it?” he asked conversationally, wondering if his initial impression was correct. After that, if she wanted to piss off and accidentally get herself lost or stuck again she was more than welcome to.

[misery]

Misery paused in her little wand drumbeat against the brick wall, thoroughly surprised when the dark haired stranger offered her the proverbial ‘secret handshake’ to get past the barrier. She hadn’t really expected it to be so easy to obtain. He didn’t know her from Adam’s housecat; she could be a menace to society, or worse, the nastiest kind of dark wizard; one that didn’t know they were dark to begin with.

A slim brow rose as she looked over her shoulder at him; standing there all smug and well-bred with his neatly pressed clothes and nice hair that seemed frozen in all the correct places. He was a little older than she; attractive, though she suspected that fine breeding and good taste would produce a man that was hoity-toity -and- so far up his own ass he could see tomorrow’s bowel movement.
As a matter-of-fact, he was probably judging her right now; probably thought she was some silly ignorant American girl that was nothing better than dirt on the bottom of his shiny loafer. Misery snorted to herself. If in fact he did think that, it wasn’t much different than how anybody had -ever- seen her. It was one of the reason’s she was so closed off. Why give them a reason to think the opposite. Truth was she was probably going to stab them in the back as soon as they turned around anyway.

Her coffee colored eyes narrowed in suspicion and Misery wondered briefly if the combination he had given her would even work. Maybe he would think it funny to give her the wrong combo and stand back and laugh. She inhaled deeply and tapped her wand on the bottom brick to the left, three up, two across; one, two, three times.

A little exhalation of air escaped her parted lips when in fact they did shift to allow passage. It was almost disappointing. Misery was in the mood to be nasty. Oh heck. Who was she kidding? She was still going to be nasty.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth she forced a sugary smile and turned back to face him. She batted her lashes like a good little damsel in distress and suddenly all the negative demeanor from a moment before was gone. If he was so willing to assist her, then perhaps she would help herself to his wallet. Someone as trusting as he seemed wasn’t likely to have one of those annoying wallet chains were they?

“I am new in town, Cher. “ Misery told him with false relief, and she brushed aside the lock of hair that was determined to get in her eyes. “S’why I was so ornery before, so please don’t take it personal. I need to get some things for a charm I’m workin’ on, but I don’t know anything about the place. You think you could show me ‘round?”

[Silas Rosier]

[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_bg.png,true][atrb=valign,top]	[rs=2][bg=ffffff][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_mainbg.png][atrb=style,background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   Silas didn’t miss the look of suspicion that the woman threw him over her shoulder. Demanding help then looking surprised when she got it? Yeah, okay. A little odd. Yet, she seemed to steel herself and attempt the combination anyway. The passageway yielded, as he knew it would, but somehow he doubted a smug ‘I told you so’ would be appropriate.   When she next turned around a smile was suddenly plastered on her features and Silas was caught a bit off guard by the drastic shift in her demeanour. Erm, alright. Because that wasn’t sudden or anything. People were a strange bunch. Just when you thought they were figured out, something would trigger them and it was like starting all over again. Jesus. That was why emotion was a pain: it prevented people from acting on any sort rational baseline.   The fact that she was suddenly talking about charms ‘ingredients’ didn’t make much sense either. The only thing you needed for a charm was a wand, so what was she― Ah, right. Those kind of charms. He decided to blame the momentary blond moment on the fact that he was somehow trying to exist today on only four hours sleep and half a million cups of coffee with about half a large bottle or more of hard liquor thrown in.   “You’ll want Nym’s House of Voodoo for that sort of thing,” Silas replied confidently, taking one or two steps closer then stopping, seeing as she was technically blocking the entrance and most people tended to get snippy about this ‘personal space’ thing. “It’s one of the few shops that caters specifically. I was just on the way so I’d be happy to show you where it is,” he offered, knowing full well that he wouldn’t even be bothering if she wasn’t easy on the eyes.   Considering the perception of Voodoo in mainstream culture, it wasn’t a place he’d ordinarily admit to needing to visit, even if he was only selling instead of buying. But hey, if she was the type to use that kind of magic there ought to be no harm in it, and besides, she couldn’t get more suspicious of him than she had been before. Although, perhaps it gave him more reason to be suspicious of her. Voodoo was a bit of an iffy branch of magic and the only times that he’d ever seen it used was with an intention that was far from benevolent. Then again, considering the people he used to know, this was probably unsurprising.   Oh, shit. Fuck, yes. Now it made sense. It had been an enormously long time since he’d spoken to Nym himself, and even though there was some hefty regional variation between Nym’s accent and this woman’s, the connection of ‘voodoo’ had allowed his brain to click into place. “The owner’s also from New Orleans, so she can help you if no one else can.” he added.   Ah, and for the record: “What do I call you?”	[atrb=valign,top]
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[misery]

Misery was awfully delighted to hear there was a place that catered to the kind of magic she was accustomed to. Back home, voodoo was just as natural as the swamps and the alligators; rooted as deep as the ancient cypress tress that grew up from the murky Bayou waters.
She was surprised however, that the man had picked up on it so quickly. Since arriving overseas she’d quickly learned that voodoo was such an unexploited branch of magic, most wizards though it was dark or uncultivated.

Quite the opposite. Though her Papa -had- been a very dark wizard, Misery had long ago come to realize which enchantments were evil and those that merely toed the line between dark and light. That was definitely the kind of witch she was; a toe-dipper; a tight walker on that fine line.

Misery’s curiosity was peaked when the gentleman confessed he was headed to Nym’s himself. He just didn’t strike her as the type to bother with such old world magic.
She bit her tongue before asking though; reminding her self that it wasn’t her business. Despite the fact that she was definitely tempted to know more about him, it was her number one rule never to become to drawn in by a mark. The exchange of names was okay. They could be given and just as easily forgotten. But once you started chatting about things that made them seem more than a wallet full of money; that was harder to overlook.

Another spark of surprise tickled Misery’s spirit when she found out that said shop owner was from her beloved N’awlins. The witch missed her home something fierce, and she reckoned musing over her homeland with someone who knew where she was coming from was just the little pick-me-up she needed. Maybe even enough to make it one more day without running to the Bayou with her tail between her legs. The Ministry there was surely looking for her by now. She couldn’t go back; at least not so soon.

“You can call me Misery.” She genuinely smiled at his this time; her mood lifted by all the little disclosures he’d shared with her.
“And what should I call you, Cookie?” Misery asked, waving him ahead through the opening in the wall so he could lead. Her head was tilted slightly to one side as her russet eyes ghosted slowly down his immaculate form once again. An impish sparkle lit them as they drifted back up to meet his enigmatic gaze.

There was something about him. He wasn’t what he seemed. Misery’s intuition was twitching like the tail of an aggravated feline.

Ignoring her number one rule, the witch lofted a brow and tucked her wand into the belt loop of her blue jeans. “So whatchoo’ do around here Mr. Fancy Pants? You help women tap walls professionally, or is that just a entertaining little side job?”

[Silas Rosier]

  Misery? Unique name. “Interesting, nice to meet you,” Silas replied with a smile and a courteous nod. His first assumption was that it was some sort of pseudonym, but with wizards you could never be sure. After all, you could hardly accuse magical folk of being fond of choosing conventional names for their children, but even for them ‘Misery’ was unusual. If the name didn’t carry such negative connotations he might have shrugged her parents off as hippies. Sounded like the quickest way to curse a child’s existence, really.

  Hmm. Misery. As in she suffered misery or she was a misery? Plenty of time to figure that out.

  He couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t provided a surname, so when the woman asked for his name in return Silas didn’t bother to provide his. If she wanted to keep things just that side of informal, fine by him. “Just Silas’ll do,” he replied and crossed from the courtyard and into the bustling alley at her bidding, pausing to wait for her.

  He hadn’t exactly missed the look she gave him as he walked past either. Nice as always to know the effort he put into his appearance wasn’t being wasted. She wasn’t too bad herself, even though her clothing was hardly the newest and her jeans looked ‘worn worn’ as opposed to ‘artfully worn’. But hey, he was always willing to show leniency when a nice face and pair of legs was involved.

  “You help women tap walls professionally, or is that just a entertaining little side job?” Misery asked jokingly, and Silas chuckled.

  “I can’t deny it’s is an exhilarating pastime, but on the official record, I apparently own one of the clubs in London,” he replied, not bothering with giving specifics on what type of club. Women especially tended to take issue with strip joints no matter how upscale they may be, and there was no point making things awkward this early on.

“I’m planning on possibly expanding it into a casino however,” he added offhandedly. A fair number of large casinos already had strip clubs located inside them, so it wouldn’t be that difficult to move the dance section of the club onto the top floor and use the rest of the space. He was still getting the quotes done on building costs and prospective earnings, but once his accountant cross-checked it and gave it the okay finance-wise they were good to start exploring the other technicalities. Ignoring the fact he still had to bring the matter up to said accountant to start with.

  “What about you?” he asked, hoping she was the type to walk and talk at the same time, because as good as random encounters were for staving off boredom just that little bit longer, he really did have places to be. “If I'd had to guess I'd say professional wall explorer or adventurer.”