a floral serpent

She couldn’t help but laugh at the description of how good the lychee martini was. Nodding her head, she reached back and pushed her wheels forehead. She was shooting for the biggest pushes that would last longer to kill most of the effort. There were probably magical escape routes for this situation but no one had been able to offer her those. 

“My father needs punched in the mouth. Aiden is more than willing to punch him in the mouth. Yet he is not eager enough to move out of the house. So, I want to punch him in the mouth. There is a lot of wanting to punch people at Nott Manor.” She shrugged a bit, taking a moment to think about that. She hadn’t seen Aiden in a few days. Where had that beast run off to? 

“How exciting. The Rosier household is depressingly tranquil. I could only dream of things coming to blows over the dinner table.”  Her brother was the prodigal son, so talented at being golden child that he could even cover for her contrary failings. If Zelda was not perhaps precisely the model daughter her parents wanted, she toed the line of it near enough for tolerance. 

Regulus wasn’t as afraid of death as he used to be, he had grown up so much in the last year. He wasn’t even sure if he was still afraid of his mother or the dark lord, they were nothing but psychopath that weren’t going to get a rise out of him….. or at least that is what he drunk mind thinks.

 “There is nothing wrong with making more money, one day your family might end up broke.” He teased. “ But let’s be real, I don’t think anyone could afford this as well, besides myself.” He chuckled. He laid back closing his eyes nodding his head. “ Hell yes this is good as heck.” He said moaning. “ I will need a lot of this.”

“ If grandpere’s gambling habit didn’t manage to drain the family fortune nothing will. Besides, well bred pureblood girls don’t make our own money. What we make is babies. With rich men.”     Spindle fingers curled round the arms of her chair and she swung bare feet back to the floorboards with a thoughtful languor to match the searchlight look she painted the space with as she’s suddenly reminded of a radio gathering dust. Old, out dated, and choking out static when she takes it down from the shelf and skipped her fingers across the controls.      

“Willing test subjects always welcome.”  Ernest, despite the way her voice brimmed with amusement. She was nothing if not a happy patron of reckless abandon and even moreso of anyone willing sample her experiments.  “Particularly since my brother’s absolutely no help. I can convince Evan to do just about anything except substance abuse. Apparently it dulls his edge.”

Zelda was leaned over the shelves of one stall. Vials were lined up on display -- liquid of every shade and permutation. She looked, examined the glint of light off glass containers and how it never seemed to get any further than the glass itself -- basilisk blood, the vendor said proudly, and no wonder patchy morning sunlight didn’t want a thing to do with it. She bought a pair of bottles, before turning her attention back to Gwen.  “See anything that interests you yet?” 

“I should hope so. I’m here to keep your arse safe.” she joked though she did, for the most part mean it. She knew Aurors were higher up the food chain than her but she felt accomplished as it was with her position. 

She followed after the girl just enjoying the night air. She may be a little tired but she was absolutely ready for a drink and a break. And she liked catching up with old roommates. Maybe friends. She never was sure with most people and didn’t really care to make the distinction. She walked in looking around with a smile. “Never been in here before.” she said

She leaned on the counter smiling a at the men sizing them up and as was too often with her she found so much lacking. “A dry martini Zee. What is your drink of choice?” she asked.

               “Found it while I was out with Walden. Mainly a place where the high end vultures of the business world like to roost after work.”  With it’s masculine decor and ceiling high whiskey wall and faint clouds of cigar smoke, it’s not a bar much frequented by young ladies. 

In fact, they were two of only a handful of women in the pub and the three piece suits in the room were watching them like they were the cool glass of water on hot summer’s day or vintage champagne for gold cuffed hands to reach for. Emma had mentioned she enjoyed emptying pockets and where better than a bar with so very many deep ones.

He chuckled bitterly at her comment, he was more than likely be killed by one of his family members and left in the street to be found. “ We have a cemetery at one of or manors were we al will be buried, only the important ones get stuffed.” He joked, watching her closely, for all he knew she could be out to kill him, Aletco already paid him a visit and it didn’t seem to work, why not sent Zelda to finish him off, but he was too high right now to care.

He sat up when the Hookah levitated to the side table, putting it up, looking it over. “ Slow hit, fast effects. Seems perfect to me, you plan on selling this if all goes well. Is that your side business, drug dealer?” He teased, taking a slow hit. “ Fuckkkk.” 

         No bitterness in her laugh, it’s light and clear as the water founting behind them. Zelda certainly too mercurial, too unpredictable to be given a task as sensitive as dealing with Regulus Black and his wavering resolve. Even if she weren’t, The Dark Lord would surely want his end to be painful as punishment. Torture is not her forte. She actually doesn’t know how much suffering her poisons may or may not inflict. A viper does not stop to think if its venom sings sweet when it has its teeth in meat. 

“Drug cultivator. No need to deal, as I’m already disgustingly set so far as money goes. This is purely vulgar curiosity.”     As so much of what she did was. She was endlessly inquisitive, ever questioning, dark head cocked thoughtfully to the side like small smart sparrow. His expletive lit her up with pleased delight, bright and charmed as if she’d been paid compliment at cocktail party.    “Good?” 

Regulus threw his head back in laughter. “ Well that is good news, I’m too important to wash up on some shitty shoreline and I always had a thing for mandrakes, it would be an honor to fertilize your mandrakes. I always wanted the way I go out to be a mystery.”

Regulus was mildly impressed with her greenhouse, not that he ever considered himself someone with a green thumb, he cared little for plants, only knowing so much from his time with Cissy and her love of flowers. Lounging himself on the sofa hanging his foot over the edge.  “ No I am not afraid of a trip, in fact, I welcome one.” He grinned lazily at her.

            “Slim chance of that. I assume the Blacks have all their dead stuffed, painted, and immortalized in a very macabre hall somewhere.”   She continued on towards a mahogany cabinet neatly stacked with sealed containers of plants left to dry after picked. Fingers skimmed over the handwritten labels, before coming to a halt on a copper lidded glass jar filled with a faintly blue tinted herb and taking it down off the shelf.  

A few minutes of production with packing and prepping a small brass hookah and then levitated it over to the side table next to Regulus with a flick of her wand. She leaned over to blow gently on the coals till they flared to warm, scarlet life and then handed him the pipe.  “Small hits to start, ma chère. Like I mentioned, the effects act very fast.” 

“Seriously Zee. A bit barbariac for such a classy lady. I’d rather make their pockets hurt then give them the satisfaction that their brute posturing is anything but a cry that says my pinky is bigger than my dick.” she joked with a laugh maybe a bit crasser than a young woman should be but Emma had never cared about that.

“Absolutely. Let’s find another fine establishment. I can’t tell you everything you know. I actually like my job.” she said knowing though she’d probably tell just about everything she just needed the pretense there.

      “I like your job too.”  Bright and sly but absolutely sincere, that quick flitting smile. Zelda tended to find herself falling often into entertainments that involved things a little left of the law and Em’s position in the DMLE had helped her out on more than one occasion. 

She led the way from the site of future dog park to a bar with doors still open. It was dim lit, dark wood fittings and walls painted the colour of old blood, lacquered black tables and what could have vaguely been a nod to the oriental. It was neither full nor empty, a place for assignations and meetings and talk and drinking against the ripple of music played by a man who leaned against the piano keys with easy skill.