|
|
Post by Ed Taco on Dec 30, 2007 19:24:59 GMT -5
Nigel Thornberry was not quite sure how he'd managed to explode his tea, but the fact of the matter was that he had and now most of his kitchen was on fire. It didn't seem to occur to him to use his wand as he flailed around the kitchen unit, having a mild freak out.
"Bugger bugger bugger--!"
He looked about desperately at his burning countertops and sink (with water still in it, oddly enough), before finding a copy of the Daily Prophet. With any luck, the sheer amount of rubbish in it would smother the flames!!
He tossed it on the fire and whimpered quietly as the fire raged even larger than before. Oh no, no--
"THORNBERRY!"
"Smashing!" He proclaimed, hearing the raspy voice of his house elf, which had never sounded so sweet. Curry would know what to do! "Curry, my dear friend--"
"I'll deal with it," the curmudgeony-old house elf grumbled. He'd come with the book shop his uncle had left him, and Nigel found that the house elf was excellent at fixing the strange predicaments he often strangely found himself in. The elf, with a glower, snapped his fingers and the flames died away, leaving only scorch marks and quiet. Nigel grinned sheepishly.
"What was it this time?" Curry asked, before he could open his mouth. The twenty-six year old wizard looked pointedly at the shattered tea kettle.
"Tea."
The elf sighed, and Nigel, feeling useless and small, slipped out of his cramped kitchen and beat a hasty retreat back into his sanctuary of books and pipes, leaving the miserly old elf to clear up the kitchen and, hopefully, brew the pot of tea that Nigel had so ingeniously ruined. Sigh. Brains apparently did not culinary ability. One of these days, his tea would not explode on him! One day...
Obscurus Books was a cramped, cozy little shoppe in Diagon Alley, filled with the faint scent of tobacco and leather. He'd inherited it nearly four years ago, and found himself quite happy staffing the shoppe. The store predating the alley itself, he was free of rent payments and, as long as he spent intelligently, it didn't really matter how little he made. He was genuinely happy in this corner of the world, ordering more books to read on whim, smoking without mum getting on his case, and even the rare customer!
Yes, life was good.
Well.
Barring the mishaps regarding cooking and what not.
  
Beatrice Skeffington peered up towards her mother with the look of a puppy that just piddled on grandmother's new rug. She wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck and slipped on her woolen peacoat before stepping past the large wooden front door and blowing warm air towards her cupped hands. The cobblestone streets heading towards Diagon Alley were crowded with busy shoppers expecting to get their Christmas gifts; though the seventeen year old was already done with her presents.
She was planning on making dinner for her parents on Christmas Eve. Though, she would mostly burn the house down…
Her haven appeared within fifty-three dreadful steps and the red haired female pushed the door open with a smile spreading to her lips as the bells attached to the door jingled merrily. With a dusting of her violet coat and smoothing out her knee-length skirt and double checking her stockings, she lurked towards the center of the bookstore and stood on her tiptoes to reach a book she had been eying up. Beatrice's blue eyes drifted towards the counter where Nigel was near. The much older man made her heart race and cheeks crimson. Thus, when she strolled up towards him with a thick romance novel in her left hand, she couldn't help but feel as though she was floating.
"Nigel, is book good?" She managed to choke out with her impaired english language before quirking up an eyebrow towards him. Beatrice happened to be his best customer due to her silly little school-girl antics.
[[All French I horribly attempt will be thanks to Altavista Babelfish and my knowledge of Spanish grammar.
So I say in advance--Pardon my French. xD]]
Nigel dusted the scorch marks off of his robes with the ease of practise, which was probably not a good sign, all things considered. It meant that he regularly blew up parts of his house and his dear old Uncle was likely rolling in his grave.
Hmm.
...oh well.
He'd settled into his over-stuffed arm chair a ways behind the counter, next to the fireplace. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea for Nigel to be near fire. Fire and Nigel tended to have interesting consequences. But the book in his lap, Animagi Through the Ages thus secured a calmer relationship with the burning flames. Nigel was amazingly graceful with his books, able to save them from everything from Blast Ended Skewrts to daft children who obviously should have never been conceived. And puddles.
And fire, amazingly enough.
Glasses perched on his nose, Nigel looked almost dashing in his chair, or so he liked to think, puffing away on his pipe. Ah, one day, he'd be like old Uncle Ghastly Darwin, who was old and cool and nutty and everything Nigel aspired to be in life. Or or or that barkeep at The Hogs Head! All obsessed with his goats. Guys like that old loon were totally rad.
He blinked when he heard a familiar voice, all stuttering and inflected with a thick French accent. Looking up through his soot-smudged glasses, he grinned and burst to his feet in that stupid over-eager way that had insured a long string of highly unsuccessful relationships.
"Hullo Beatrice!" He'd chirped rather stupidly and had a look at the book in her hand. Ah, Un Muggle, un Sorcière, et Cheminée Magie, a painfully clever book about love in the floo-network. Or mongooses in umbrellas, I'm not quite sure. Regardless, it was a good read. I think you'll enjoy it."
Silly Nigel, getting all nerdy with your books. Oh well. At least she hadn't hit him with it or something.
Beatrice Skeffington gave him her hundred watt smile and laughed heartily to herself before setting the book upon the counter and digging around in her coat pocket for some spare galleons. "What es thee price?" She questioned with her French accent biting into her words while pulling out a small pouch jiggling with the sweet sound of coins.
The French female peered around and began to softly hum one of her favorite songs to herself. Of course, his uber dorkiness was what made Beatrice attracted to him in the first place. With a hand brushing away some of her burnt orange hair, she looked up towards the Nigel with a certain curiosity. "Mind I stay and read? It's cold out." Beatrice pointed past the front counter towards the back of the shoppe and shifted her eyes upon the armchair.
"Ah, a galleon and six sickles," He commented. Sure it was nearly six sickles off...but hey. She was his best customer. One of his only ones, in fact. She deserved a discount. And she'd never smacked him with a book! Clearly, this meant she deserved lowered prices. She was, after all, sparing him brain damage. Which as well know, he has more than enough of.
He blinked and processed her words, before looking curiously out the window.
"Blimey! It's snowing!" He remarked rather stupidly, honestly surprised by this revelation. Now this meant he'd have to shovel his walk to get milk in the morning. Being awoken before the sun was just plain criminal.
"Of course you can stay," Nigel commented with a sanctimonious nod. He'd flicked his wand and conjured an identical arm chair to his own (though sans the cat hair of the numerous strays that abused Nigel's good nature).
He opened the little door deal for the young lass and plopped into his seat, sticking his pipe between his teeth again, picking up that weathered old book. Merlin, he'd first read this at Hogwarts nearly...eight, nine years ago. Ah, the memories.
"Just let me know if you need anything, aye?"
For Beatrice Skeffington, this was a spectacle as she slowly lowered herself down into the cozy armchair and flipped open the book to the first page. French words swirled and ran about the pages leaving the red haired female in a complete state of bliss. With silence floating in the air and a warmth coming from the depths of the kitchen which wrapped around her shoulders like a comforting blanket.
Out of the dust appeared a disgruntled looking house elf with a slight scowl upon his face. Narrowed eyes, it glanced up to her with a certain look of disparagement. The female stared as the house elf approached Nigel and gingerly set a cup of tea upon his desk.
Stupidly, Beatrice rose out of her seat and crouched down to the height of Curry and peered up towards the brunette, "I had no idea you had house elf."
She lazily went out to touch the old elf but he merely slapped her hand away.
"He a smarmy one," she replied and watched him slowly stroll away. The seventeen-year old rubbed her now pink hand and rose from the ground, elegantly dusting off her skirt. "So, you're a tea fan, Mr. Thornberry?" Beatrice, herself, happened to have a large collection of herbal teas in her family's cabinet. That's pretty much all she would have when waking up; english breakfast tea.
[/blockquote] |
|
|
|
Post by Ed Taco on Dec 30, 2007 19:38:34 GMT -5
Nigel had settled into quiet contentment, letting magical formulae wash over him as he read, lazily turning the pages, examining diagrams and his old notes, scrawled into the margin in his unintelligible handwriting. So useful.
The sound of grumbling met his ears and he looked up when it was accompanied by the click of a tea saucer and cup. Mmm, Earl Grey. He adjusted his glasses and glowered down at his mean old elf as he smacked Beatrice's hand away. That wouldn't do! The elf wandered off and Nigel shook his head, flicking his wand to snap the door between home & shoppe shut.
"Ah, Curry came with the place," he explained. "My uncle left him to me. Thought it'd be funny."
Head shake. Stupid old uncle and your embittered elf!!
"Ah, well, yes," he commented, blinking. He had been raised on the stuff since the womb, after all. Om nom nom, tea, he mused as he took a sip.
|
|
|
|
Post by BILLBOARD BROW on Jan 18, 2008 22:59:45 GMT -5
|
|
|
|
Post by Ed Taco on Jun 13, 2008 15:08:16 GMT -5
[[OMG! So my fault! I didn't realise it was my turn to post, dollface! -dies-]]
Ah, she knew his weakness. Delicious home cooking was something the young Thornberry had never mastered, and missed horribly. Just not enough to go bother his parents at home (not that they could cook either–but at least their house elves could) for some food. So he (somehow) survived on English muffins, which were about all Curry could make either. And tea. Lot's of tea.
"Well, I would be hard pressed to refuse," he'd grinned out. Scones? MMmmmmm. Scooonnneees.
They'd lapsed into silence, and he'd found himself reading once again. His super power was the ability to read, no matter the situation. His shoppe could be under assault, and unless his books were in danger, he'd keep reading away happily.
Of course, he did blink at a rather out of place 'thud'. Looking up, he pushed his glasses up his nose and...
Oh dear.
"Um. Beatrice?"
Hm. No response. B-bugger! D:
"CURRY, SET UP THE SPARE ROOM OR I'LL GUT YOU!"
Mild panic, what do we do, what do we–RIGHT WAND. A quiet 'locomotor' and a shuffling to open the door and he had his customer dangling in mid air, being slowly levitated back into his home, towards the guest room that rotten house elf best be preparing, if he knows what's good for him!
Aha! The elf had heard, because as he reached the room, there was a plush bed set out, which he gently levitated Beatrice onto. Fret fret fret...right!
"Eneverate," he'd whispered, poking her with his wand. That was the right spell, right?
|
|
|
|
Post by BILLBOARD BROW on Jun 13, 2008 15:14:46 GMT -5
(Haha, it's alright, darling! xD
I will post in a second, just you wait. I'm going to put an order down for the mask.)
|
|
