from porcelain to ivory to steel.

“I really wish you would just answer my owls,” Bailey said, popping into the bar stool and looking at Odette expectantly. “Not that I’m complaining, precisely; I don’t mind this bar. Can I get a whiskey? 

She was practically vibrating out of her seat at having finally caught Odette at work, questions racing in the back of her mind. All she wanted to do was pull out her notebook and start working, but that wasn’t exactly appropriate for such a public space. 

“I really do only want to help. And I’m curious. It’s hard to find any willing to talk to me. Running away was a really dramatic response to a simple question, by the way.”

Originally posted by misplacedtrusty

@odettcss

“And I really wish you’d stop sending them.” Odette sighed. She’d grown quite used to Bailey’s letters. She’d read the first few, mostly to be polite, but they all contained the same information, the same big question, it had become easier to not respond, or to send them back unopened. After feeding the owl, of course. Odette was a werewolf, but she wasn’t a monster.

She poured the whiskey, neat, before placing it down on the bar. It wasn’t that Odette didn’t think Bailey’s intentions were good. She was just a fascinated kid. She didn’t mean any harm, sure, but that didn’t mean Odette had to, or even could, trust her. “You don’t?” She asked. “I think I’d prefer to drink in the Three Broomsticks, even the Hog’s Head, and I work here.”

“A simple question?” Odette repeated, a little incredulously. Yes, running had been foolish, and it was a decision she had regretted ever since she’d made it, but it was far from a simple question. “Look, I get that this all must be interesting for you, a fun little research project, or whatever, but it’s my actual life. It’s not something I can be objective about, and it’s certainly not something I can discuss with a relative stranger.”

Han rolled his eyes, but he grinned since he could tell from her voice that she wasn’t truly going to argue about it. Something about her face seemed oddly familiar, but Han didn’t immediately place her. It was only as he took in her accent–so like his own–and her book that Han connected how he knew her. “You know, Vogel. Of all the people from France to run into around here, you weren’t one I would have expected.” He watched her slide her chair and gestured for her to bring it closer. “What brought you here?”

“You’re not the first to have said that, you know?” Odette replied, moving her chair closer, as Han had indicated. “What is it about me that makes people surprised? I traveled rather extensively as a child, why should adulthood be any different?” She asked, before pausing to think of a response. She’d told a lot of people a lot of different reasons as to why she’d moved, but she hadn’t gone to school with any of them, and they weren’t able to potentially disprove her lies. “Work. The job market at home is not what it once was, I thought I might try my luck abroad. And you?”

To say Seamus didn’t like visits to the doctor was an understatement. Back in Ireland, for all of their pregnancy and infant medical needs, they either visited the small doctor’s office in town or were lucky to have home visits from their pediatrician.

As soon as Hilda knew she was pregnant with Seamus, she knew her pregnancy plan was going to involve a witch midwife. There was no way come hell or high water that she was going to deliver her precious, first-born son in a muggle hospital. So, while she was pregnant she found a witch midwife for the delivery and that witch then connected her to a magical pediatrician who did house calls for Seamus’s first year of check ups. She and Patrick had taken him to a local muggle doctor a couple of times when the pediatrician wasn’t available, but Hilda did her best to avoid those trips.

When she arrived in England, Narcissa connected her to a local pediatrician that also did house calls, but when they weren’t available, the back up was St. Mungo’s.

“He is a he,” Hilda laughed out of exhaustion more than anything else. “And his name is Seamus.”

Hilda raised her hand to brush a stray hair from Seamus’s forehead, caressing his head in an attempt to calm him down. “I am so sorry about the crying. He’s been irritable all day, which is why we’re here. I think it might be a cold, because he’s been sneezing a bit too, but I don’t want to give him anything just in case I’m wrong.”

“Seamus, that’s Irish, right?” Odette asked. That sounded about right, didn’t it? There was a solid chance it might’ve been Scottish, but Odette had been in the United Kingdom to beginning to pick up on the nuances of things such as names. “It’s lovely, regardless.”

“Oh, don’t be!” She reassured. “He’s only a baby, after all.” The crying had been grating on her, sure, but she wasn’t about to tell what was clearly quite a stressed mum that it was a problem. “That’s reasonable. Same reason I’m here, actually. Bit of a head-cold that I just can’t seem to shake.”

Being pushed, doing the pushing? It all depends who it’s with.

Nic heard the muffled curse in french and his head immediately popped up. He’d been idly drinking- always a bad idea for him- and messing with patrons in the tavern for the past few minutes, making people’s money and jewelry disappear, making their drinks taste funny, or the screws in their stools come loose, etc. The minute he heart his native tonuge, however, all of his attention was focused on the pretty woman behind the bar who definitely hadn’t been there when Nic first walked in. 

“Are you French, or do you just speak it?” he asked in the language, looking at her with hungry eyes.

@odettcss

Oh shit. Odette had grown quite used to cursing in French at work. It was usually loud enough that no one heard her, and if they did, they didn’t understand French. It had been a win-win situation, until now. She looked at the man who has asked. He was young, younger than she was at least, but something in his eyes made him seem much older.

You are correct! If anyone has any idea who it might be, please owl me.

Zara liked the White Wyvern well enough. She’d have to look for the pretty woman the next time she was there. “Fair enough.”

Zara wasn’t usually honest. It wasn’t her forte. But in this case, honesty was, although quite boring, an easy feat to pull off. “I was at home, in bed. I had… a bit of a late night last night, and as a result, did not get out from under the covers until a couple of hours ago.”

“I didn’t have any work today, so I decided to kill some time and come here.” And she was back to not the whole truth. Zara had jobs on the go at the moment, she just utterly lacked the energy necessary to do any work that day.

Since people always seemed to ask, Zara skipped ahead. “I’m a curse-breaker, by the way. Freelance - I don’t have any interest in people telling me what jobs to take and when.”

“Ah, lucky. I had quite an early shift. I don’t know what it is about the British, but they seem quite keen on drinking as soon as the sun rises.” Odette rolled her eyes. “Must’ve been a boring day, if Borgin and Burkes is your source of entertainment, although I have to admit, I’ve seen some weird things in here.”

“What is it that curse-breakers actually do?” Odette asked out of curiosity. She wasn’t usually so chatty, but if the other woman was opening up, even ever so slightly, Odette figured she could too. “I admire that. I wish I could tell my boss to shove it and do things whenever I felt like it.”

Han flipped his sunglasses up and frowned. He’d thought an afternoon at one of the only magical inns he could find with a pool would be relaxing, but he hadn’t counted on the kids constantly screaming. Them he could ignore. His sun being blocked by someone else putting up an umbrella? That was crossing a line.

“Excuse me,” he said, sitting up. “Do you might? You could go pretty much anywhere else in the whole place, just not right in that exact spot.” He kept a smile on his face, hoping they would take it as gentle rubbing and not the start of a fight. He was here to relax, not argue over stupid things.

“But this is the perfect spot.” Odette replied, in a similar sort of teasing manner. “It’s warm, close enough to the bar, and most importantly, out of the splash-zone. Can’t risk getting my book wet now, can I?” She asked, waving the book in question. It had been a considerably long time since Odette had spoken to Han. They had been friendly enough in school, at least from her end. He was older, part of a crowd she never truly fit into. “But I suppose I could move it, just a little.”

She smiled across the room. “He’s, uh, quite cute.” Odette offered, before adding. “He is a he, right?” Dammit. Odette wasn’t good with kids.

Zara hadn’t just come from a murder. Prior to shopping at Borgin and Burke’s that evening, Zara had been in bed. It wasn’t her favourite thing, waking in the afternoon well after most people began their day, but it happened and she refused to feel bad about it. She worked hard, and the type of work she did often led to late nights. Besides, she had enough internalized guilt from her grandmother, she didn’t need to feel guilty about anything else. She’d met her lifetime quota for guilt in early childhood.

“Thanks, I do my best to make sure there aren’t any bits and pieces from the scene left on me.” While she hadn’t come from a murder that day, she often didn’t look much different when she did.

“So, if not a crime scene, where were you before you came here? Has coming to Borgin and Burke’s been an improvement or demotion compared to the rest of your day?”

“Naturally. If you don’t clean yourself up, you’re just asking for trouble. That’s rule number one.” Odette replied. It was quite a macabre joke she’d started, but there was no better place for it than Borgin and Burkes.

“Work, actually. At the White Wyvern, so they’re truly just as mediocre as each other.” Odette shrugged. “What about you, then?”

Zara had been doing so out of her periphery rather than a full on glance, but she wasn’t about to argue semantics.

She shrugged. “You don’t. It’s a risk you have to take with everyone who comes in here.” Most people who shopped at Borgin and Burke’s were up to something, and to an extent she was too. Zara had several jobs on the go at the moment, and though she wasn’t looking for tools that could help her, if she happened across one she wasn’t going to just leave it there.

“Some people just want to shop around and others have come fresh from a murder,” she teased. “You never know who you’re shopping next to.”

Odette shrugged in agreement. It was true. It was becoming increasingly true for everywhere, but more so in places like Borgin and Burkes. It didn’t tend to bother her too much, however. Odette was quite used to having to look over her shoulder.

“Yes, well if you’ve just come from a murder, you’re looking remarkably well put together.” Odette deadpanned. “If it were me, I think I might look a little disheveled.”