per agnitionem.

artemis was right to worry ⏤ as long as the tide didn't shift in favor of the death eaters. helena wasn't sure what would be worse : her father and his friend's ravings winning a war, or the shame & humiliation of being stuck on the wrong side. ancient families brought to ruin based on where they arranged themselves. it was why helena made a point to stay as neutral as possible. maybe it was cowardly, but cowards lived to see another day. the same couldn't be said for the brave. " could care less about any kind of druidic history. " she agrees with a nod. " but if you really need that deal to go through, i'll buy it off you. might as well. father might like it ⏤ or he'll send it off and it'll make its way back to you so you can sell it again. "

neutrality would suit her. for now. no matter what, she knows what her family name speaks. purity, above all else. while the ideology is stupid - idiotic, even - to her, the brushes have stroked her in with it. even if her sympathies lie with freedom, freedom of knowledge, of livelihood, of everything... it is a fantasy, she knows, and one that neither side in this war seeks to promise. if the purists win, she will almost certainly find herself forced into the life of a proper pureblood witch. and the other side... well, she knows well enough that they'll assume enough about her to hate her, possibly forever. and there are magicks they will lock away even further, despite their potentials, despite the fact that knowledge itself is not evil, not cruel, not the thing that will bring anyone down. "i figured. much of it is boring. the politics, and some of the skills they fostered, however - fascinating stuff." she laughs, completely taken aback. "don't be absurd. it'd cost triple, if not quadruple whatever your father would be willing to let you pay for a trinket. it's not that dire, helena. our coffers will survive months of this ridiculousness. years, even. i promise."

hesitation as her father once told her was weakness in a way, a quick way to tell everyone that you weren't sure about something or even yourself and in this moment, as much as that could be a lesson, she was also taught common decency. she didn't bother to smile, she didn't have it in her to fake something - not today, not right now, "why apologize if you would do it again?" leaning over to flag the other bartender, "pint of the ale, please --"

there's politeness, and there's propriety. artemis would not consider herself kind, warm, nor polite: she's proper. she was raised proper, and while much of that properness she has left well behind, with no chance of looking back (a good marriage, a life spent building her house, total deference to her so-called betters), plenty of it remains. "manners are often little more than a pointless performance. the world does not wait around for you to make up your mind, and while the barkeep might, they'd probably prefer not to."

artemis smirks along with them, but it's not... complete. would that she could do anything to prevent it, the fate shackling so many like herself, so many of those she grew up with. the promise of marriage. a good one. were she herself not so invested in the family business, were she not the only borgin or burke who cared, who had any real skill or talent in their trade, she might be the same. were her father not so distracted, were her mother still alive... she shrugs. "i'm not sure she'd be able to." she says instead. "if it's to be inevitable, don't you want a say in it? turn the whole thing into her worst nightmare, i say." she lowers her voice a touch. "i heard tell there's a terrible underground market for it in america. though i can't see how half the things they supposedly sell as manticore hide could be real. then again, you'd know better than me, i guess." she grins. "fabulous. a rare opportunity not to have to queue up and fend off a bunch of idiots from trying to join us." she steps away, into the street. "ah, it won't last you that long - only a hundred or so pages. there are some beautiful sketches though."

"i'd have every right to." reaching the rest of the broken pots that laid forgotten behind the shop, winifred unceremoniously dropped everything in her hands, glad to still mostly be wearing the earmuffs that shielded her from the sound of clay hitting clay. with her hands finally free, she fully removed them, letting them rest on her neck as she turned to face the woman who had no business being here. “they needed repotting.” she found herself suddenly defensive, crossing her arms over her chest.

"you would." artemis' lips twitch with the hint of a smile, of amusement. she's not sure why she's so determined to antagonise this witch. probably just her own irritation at her afternoon. but she's not going to dwell on it, but rather indulge herself. a return to who she'd been as a teenager: cutting, sharp, something of a menace. it's been a while since she's had the opportunity. she takes a drag from her cigarette. "and the repotting was a success, i take it?" she doesn't care. it's just for the sake of having a reply.

she turns to him with surprise - surprise she will let show, this time. it's a luxury. one hard gained, and deserved. he's interesting, as much as he may yet pose a threat, his company has proved far from boring, tiresome, or immediately threatening. "well, i won't ask twice then." it still proves a surprise, at times, to have won over men like himself. to be a witch in this world, a pureblood one at that, expected to marry and bear heirs and live out a life of window dressing, rather than of intrigue, professional success, even conversation - it is rather refreshing to be taken seriously to offer something more. even if the something more is as simple as a drinking partner, or a businesswoman. but she would not take it lightly. he may be a flatterer, a prospect - but she would not blind herself to the possibility that she would be dissected, all too simply, by someone so seemingly confident, so obviously adept as he.

the admittance was odd. and terribly alarming, though she'd never say the words aloud. lines were being drawn, allegiances made clear, even among those who would never be at the front lines of anything. she's careful to keep her face neutral, but there's a downturn of her mouth as she considers artemis' words. " well, you'll made that back soon enough, i would hope. where there's smoke, there's fire. likely you'll start gaining customers as fast as you lose them. " how under scrutiny would their families be, she wonders ? she's already tired of it. rolls her eyes at the questioning. ridiculous, that she has to run errands her father should be doing himself. " very funny. what was that flake going to buy from you ? "

"in private sales, maybe." she retorts. sure, she's had plenty of owls asking to see any objects of interest with cloaking charms, disguising enchantments, even tomes on strange dark magicks - even one asking after a genuine invisibility cloak (she'd had to laugh, the insistent belief in such a child's tale. but then, stranger things had turned up, over the years). but the shop itself has been slower than ever. "if this keeps up, even those who feel safe won't want to be caught dead on the streets. the shame of it all." she sighs, turns to helena, her irritation quickly burned out into resignation. "an old staff. early iteration of what would become our handy wee wands, with a little... extra built in." garnet, half-hidden at the tip. the thing was terrifyingly adept at producing fire. "a fascinating little piece of old magic, could be terrifying in the right hands. but nothing you'd find particularly interesting, i'm afraid - unless you've developed a sudden obsession with eleventh century druidic history."

artemis finds a smile somewhere, guard still up, somewhat - she still doesn't know this man, his intentions, what exactly it is he's doing out here in the middle of the street when most are hidden away at home. his words are still carefully chosen. though, she supposes, everyone's will be now. probably for a long time. "strikes me," she says, humour there now, "you might be paying for the first round to make up for it." who is he, she wonders, to be so confident as to offer a drink with a stranger, now. she'd rather not think it, but confidence now means one of two things. he, like herself, is untouchable by name, or by association. possibly both. dangerous as it would be to share any secrets, friends on all sides couldn't hurt. provided she doesn't ask for too many truths in return.

𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 | 𝑳𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒏

artemis burke isn't one to wait in line - especially not behind those who seemed not to know what they wanted, or who didn't seem to really want anything after all. she would not suffer stupidity or indecision, not if she could help it. hence, she'd slipped easily to the barfront, ignoring the witch who'd arrived just before her, and now, somewhat smug, calls across the beer taps - "pint of stout, please, love. and a firewhiskey." she turns to face the witch she'd cut off and smiles a little, shrugs. "sorry." it's a little disingenuous. "wasn't sure if you knew what you were after. i don't love waiting around."

she keeps up the pretense all too easily. her surname, her upbringing, they provided a lifetime of playing along carefully. not to mention her obsessions, her practice at mind-games. still with a slight edge, she shrugs. "hm. well i suppose it is on you, then." she mutters, privilege, ignorance, a lack of care all coloring her voice. the door closes behind him, and she smirks a little. at least she's avoided going in there. better anywhere than inside with the dust, must, the sad, old, uninteresting sort of clientele they tended to attract. she steps back. pockets away her pack of cigarettes, his disinterest quite clear by now. but they'd done their job. "the leaky cauldron it is."

"having a smoke, you moron." she bites back, as tetchy as she's likely to allow anyone to see her - were it not lucius, who wasn't likely to hold it against her, who'd seen her as annoyed as this with idiotic customers, flaky sellers, and outright liars, she'd have schooled herself back to coolness by now. "don't be a prat. i'll hex you." she looks down at her cigarette. takes one last half-hearted drag, then tosses it out onto the freezing pavement.

@slingsandarrcws

it's her least favourite part of business, manning the store. more often than not, it's students passing through to giggle and poke at the more gimmicky items on display, aurors in terrible disguises checking that they're not flogging dark magicks and cursed jewellery, or wixen without the brains or the galleons to know what they're looking for, let alone afford anything. it's a slow day, at least, so she's able to perch behind the counter, alternating between drawing identification runes on new pieces of inventory, and catching up on her reading.

she's always liked narcissa: she'd been interesting at school, seemingly unbothered by the usual expectations of family, of society. rather like artemis herself. "oh, no. not yet. but the looks some people have given me... i'm getting rather tired of justifying why i might dare to pop over this side of the alleys." her eyes roll. "it's only going to get worse, so i suppose i'd better get used to it. paint on a pretty face for the bastards." she gives narcissa a quick once-over, wondering how different it must be for them, their overbearing, omnipresent mother, forever pushing for what seems to artemis a fate worse than death. "something tells me she may go on wishing a long while yet." she wonders, sometimes, were it not for the war, were it not for family, for their rather more brazen sister, whether narcissa might've left england altogether. whether it might have been a happier existence, out in the wilderness with just dragons for company. not that it matters, all that much. "it does seem a tad morbid. must've cost a fair few knuts, then. what'd they go for instead? occamy hide? manticore - oh, that would not be cheap." her gaze follows narcissa's, out at the near-empty street, the closed doors and dim lights. "well, my afternoon's free now. my two-o'clock didn't show. you have any other errands to run? we could go for a drink - oh, don't let me forget, i've a book back at the store you might find interesting. just a translation of some 15th century dragon sightings in france, i've been holding onto it for you."

clearly, part of her mind bites back, skin prickling still in her annoyance. the gaze he sets upon her is a little too calculating, a little too sure of himself - or at least it feels that way. just in case, she whittles the thoughts away behind a falsity of nervousness at the political situation. there aren't so many known legilimens around, but it could never hurt to practice, nor to be careful. misdirection, she'd learned, served better than a wall. in many contexts. his hands dig deep against his pockets, too, and she very carefully does not react. hiding from the cold, she forces herself to think. but the twitch was seen, and tucked away for later. "easy enough to miss me, i suppose. i haven't ever struck the tallest figure."

' oh, relax, burke. the door creaks anyway. you had plenty of time to move out of the way. ' helena twirls a lock of hair on her finger. she makes a face at the remnants of ash dusting artemis's cheek, holding what she'd bought closer to her chest. mulciber sr demanding she get herbs at the apothecary for her brother — she hated the errand, hated how it had to be done with as much secrecy as possible lest her brother's condition be known. but sometimes she was able to encounter some fun. artemis burke in distress seemed fun. ' what's got you looking so miserable ? ' she looks around, but no one else is lazing enough to stop. figures. it's too late for anyone to be doing business they care to be recognized in. well, anyone except her. ' the little light show ? seems that's on everyone's minds now. '

oh, artemis thinks. great. someone who'll definitely make her day better. this'll definitely make up for the hundred galleon loss due to her collector's cowardice. but she doesn't miss the way mulciber's arms tighten a little at her chest. she stows that one away for later, coolly raising her free hand to wipe away the smudge at her cheek.

war seems to be the only word on anyone's mind, on every side of the battle. since samhain, it was as though winifred had moved back home — her father breathing down her neck, her sisters looking to her for answers. unfortunately, winnie didn't have any answers; just more questions that would probably forever go unspoken. trying to not think about it, she threw herself at her work, deciding that repotting the mandrakes was more important than anything else for now.

the smell of soil and fertiliser and greenness tickles at her nose, hidden beneath her smoke. she probably should have questioned the meeting place, suggested somewhere that wasn't practically on another person's business, but it was the first time in years someone had been interested in the amulet. she learned early on not to ask too many questions of her family's clients. some had ended painfully, others in the simple loss of a sale. it isn't always easy to tell which it'll be.

were it not for the fact that the particular amulet she'd hoped to sell today had been burning a hole in their shelves & ledgers for a decade now, expensive, dangerous, and obscure, artemis mightn't have been nearly so annoyed. and yet. now she'll be stuck with it, and during a week where they're almost certain to be raided. her hidden vaults are getting too full for her liking.