Salut, traveler.

"We don't have ghosts. That implies ghosts can be captured and owned. The whole... spirits cling to their place of death, or whatever, isn't quite true. Makes for a great story though." Remus held his hand up, catching a falling candle before it could strike Dante. "But there are places where the veil between life and death are the thinnest. Cakes and Cauldron's is built on one such place.

"So... A haunted cafe. A hot, magic barista slash baker, who smells just as good as the desserts. Boy, what else could a dude want for a nice afternoon?" He grinned and shrugged. "If the coffee is as good as you are cute, I think you got yourself a new regular customer."

"You really think you can tell me what to do, eh?" He chuckled, though he did kind of like that sort of thing. He wanted to be obstinate though. It was how he always was. "You gonna try bossing me around while you're here pal?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Bad boys get punished." He gave the man an obvious glance over to see Steve's rear. "Have you been a bad boy? Maybe you need me to spank that ass into submission, soldier?"

It was a joke; the tone came off as a joke. Mostly. However... the thoughts in his mind were anything but, and Dom felt his manhood swell in his jeans, imagining Steve's muscular ass bare and red with the marks of his hand.

"Uh... Yeah," he answered, trying to cover the little embarrassing escape. "I know Levi is a dragon. He doesn't exactly hide it well, or at least he didn't with me. So like... I kinda assumed you were. But I didn't actually know, like I didn't wanna assume."

Text: It's only awkward if you make it so, dear Nephew. Besides, it was a great pic, albeit missing my favorite ASSet.

text: and if you're so eager to have some company, I'll pack a bag and come over tonight

“Let’s not,” he said dryly, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to break through. “I’ve had quite enough near-death experiences for one lifetime. Don’t feel the need to add ‘impaled by enthusiastic shopkeeper’ to the list.”

But he didn’t interrupt otherwise. He listened.

And that, more than anything, gave him away.

Most skeptics would’ve scoffed, laughed it off, walked out. Zacharias stayed exactly where he was—still, attentive, eyes fixed on Milo like he was weighing every word.

At “one heck of a magical fuck”, his brow lifted.

“…Charming,” he muttered, though not entirely displeased.

When Milo cut through the act completely, Zacharias exhaled a quiet breath through his nose—something like relief slipping through the cracks of his usual guarded demeanor.

“Good,” he said. “Because the cryptic nonsense gets exhausting quickly.”

He straightened a little as Milo held out his hand, gaze flicking down to it briefly before returning to his face.

“Across the pond, yeah,” Zacharias replied. “And if you call it ‘the State’ again, I’m going to assume you’re doing it just to irritate me.”

A beat—then he reached out and took Milo’s hand, his grip firm but brief.

“Zacharias Smith.”

He let go, stepping back just enough to reestablish his space, but he didn’t disengage. If anything, he looked more settled now—like he’d decided Milo was worth the time.

“And for the record,” Zacharias added, folding his arms again, “I wasn’t planning on announcing anything. But since you’ve already decided I’m… what was it—‘a magical fuck’—”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not hostile—just testing.

“Go on then,” he said. “Tell me what you actually see. No theatrics, no sales pitch.”

A faint tilt of his head.

"Ok, Mr. Zacharias Smith," he replied, and shrugged, playfully. "You want legit, no theatrics? Well, then who need cards?" He made the deck disappear as well, although that was simple slight of hand, no real magic there. He looked shrewdly at the brit, as if studying him. But in truth, that was another act. He already knew what he'd say.

OK, maybe a little theatrics, Milo thought to himself with an inner chuckle.

"You're a Scorpio," he began. "Which is awesome, cuz I'm a Pisces, and we rock, go water signs," he said, raising his hand in a mock revolutionary-fist-in-the-air gesture. "You... have got a nine inch piece of wood, and I ain't talkin about the package," he added winking. "Hawthorne, I think. And you work for... The Ministry of Magic?" He raised an eyebrow. That part, he was legitimately curious about. "Now, I dunno much 'bout the UK, but that sounds a little scary." He cocked his head and shrugged again.

He nodded toward the hallway. "That where the bathroom is?" he asked, changing the subject and taking a bit of a more commanding tone. "Why don't you help me clean and redress this wounds, eh, Captain?" he asked, stern but soft. "Army man like yourself, I assume you've got some combat med experience?" he walked over to his bag and pulled a small med kit out. "Unless you wanted to keep talking about secrets?"

Which, frankly, was the most telling part.

His eyes dropped to it, slow and assessing—not wide, not startled, just… calculating. The faintest shift in his posture gave him away though, that subtle tightening like a wire pulled taut. Recognition. Not surprise.

“Right,” he exhaled softly, more to himself than Milo. “Thought so.”

His gaze lifted back up, meeting Milo’s with something sharper now—less amused, more aware.

“Well,” he said, straightening slightly and folding his arms again, “that’s certainly one way to separate the tourists from the people who know what they’re looking at.”

He tilted his head, studying Milo properly this time, like he was re-evaluating the entire situation.

“Most people go for parlour tricks,” Zacharias continued, gesturing lazily toward the dagger. “Smoke, mirrors, a bit of dramatic flair. You skipped straight to ‘dangerous object humming with actual magic’.”

A beat. His lips quirked faintly.

“Bold. I respect it.”

He leaned in just a fraction, eyes flicking over the blade with clear familiarity now.

“Elemental binding, yeah? Blue tint’s not just for show. Let me guess—responds better to intent than incantation.”

He pulled back again, one brow lifting.

“Also,” he added, dry as ever, “if you’re trying to sell that to me, you’re overshooting. I’m not in the market for something that might decide I’m unworthy and take a finger off.”

Another glance around the shop—this time more deliberate. He wasn’t browsing anymore. He was clocking things.

Then, back to Milo.

WIth a final swish, he sent the dagger back to its place in the back of the shop, and folded his arms, leaning back. He gave the stranger a long, calculating look, using all the skills he had for assessing someone. "Naw, I wasn't trying to sell you nuthin, Sir. I didn't take you for a kid in a candy store. But I did clock you as one heck of a magical fuck, he added, and sat leaned forward, relaxing on his elbows. "But its not like you're doin' nuthin' wrong, I just got a good sense for shit," he said, waving his hands in a vaguely occultic imitation. "So I figure... Why not dispense with the silly talk-around, and get to brass tacks. Yeah, this is a magic shop. But I'm the legit thing, Mister. I can do whatever tricks you like, but the magic here is real, too."

"Wait..." he said, as he saw other metal. He grabbed Levi's heavy meat, turning it, and revealing new piercings underneath. "A jacob's ladder?" he said, excited. "That is so fucking cool, dude!"