RP Log; Agnes + Jo Who: Agnes and Jo Where: Soho, Agnes's flat What: Weed and sit-ins When 23 February, morning
Status: Complete, logged Rating: PG-13 (drugs)
Agnes's place was difficult to find amid the Soho chaos. Torn down buildings had been patched together and painted with peace signs and other illegible muggle graffiti. Barefoot children danced on hopscotch boards and old men sat with their cousins and sons with drums and hookahs and braided hair, looking surprisingly welcoming toward strangers as they wandered through the neighbourhood's wide alleys. A set of flats here had a sign ("SQUATTERS UNITE") draping down from the windows and a pub there ("O'HARE'S") was alive with smoke and reflected sunlight and white, toothy smiles.
A few questions asked here or there would have directed the curious to the pub, though, next to which was a ramshackle and dizzyingly colour complex with a boarded up door. Agnes sat atop a wide balcony, one bare foot dangling over the dark metal, swaying in tune to Slip Kid - which poured from the windows, mingling with a myriad sounds and created a cacophony of life. The only way up was to climb, it seemed.
... and climb Jo did, most carefully for she was prone to a stumble here or there and she'd rather not when the stability was not uniform. But she fit into Agnes's world all too well. Long, unkempt hair matched the hookah smoke as her long necklaces jangled and caught the sunlight when she finally reached her new friend's platform. She smiled briefly, deeply inhaling the scent of dope and incense that clung to the swirling walls. "Quite the place," she said, by way of greeting.
"Thanks." She exhaled a long cloud of smoke as she spoke, her voice unnaturally husky as her lungs dealt with the aftermath. "Don't get your kind 'round here much, though." She stretched her hand out, but not in greeting. A joint was made a peace offering, perhaps. Or a question.
After a minute hesitation, Jo took hold of the joint and gave it one long drag before expelling the smoke in a roiling cloud. Her face relaxed and she smiled more naturally. "Française or Ministry?"
Agnes let her grin grow more crooked, as it was wont to do when she was amused. "Ministry. We got some Frogs down the way," and she was licking her fingers and spinning another joint as quick as your uncle. It ought to have occurred to her that frog was not the preferred epithet of the French, but as it was the neighbourhood joke (and she was used enough to being called a limey) it didn't cross her mind.
She took the name in stride and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, even bending one knee to rest her chin upon. "So, this shite," and she grinned, trying out the English slang, "going on in Diagon Alley."
It was clear it wasn't hard to get Agnes going. She frowned deeply around her joint and glared out over Soho, her grey eyes sparkling against the sunlight. Her frown was toward London, toward the offensive Alley that housed her displeasure. "Bollocks," she muffled, alit with a traditional muggle lighter and revelling in the offence as she gestured rudely out towards the wizarding locale.
"Somethin needs to be done and nobody's doin' nuffink."
"There's a lot of bureaucratic bitching," she admitted, wondering if she ought to say that much. But it was what it was. She wasn't turning back now. "It's getting all tied up by our esteemed patrons and our Purist lobbies. And the Aurors are shite for brains without the law to back them." Oh, she recognised the damnability of the situation. It plagued her into her dreams and dogged every step during the day. "You know what we need? A sit in."
Agnes liked this woman already, and she pulled in closer, hair shining gold in the sun as she tilted to speak, curls of incense and weed dancing about her shoulders and lips. "You in? I could organize one, right? We ought go down there and see which one of them stores is the worst!" She dragged, a cough settling at the bottom of her lungs. "Bet its that ouroborus twat."
"Un cochon, non?" And she made a snorting noise, using her free hand to smash the soft part of her nose upward. "We should start at Fortescue's because he's got the outdoor cafe. A crowd would work there. It'd make a statement."
Agnes didn't have a clue what that meant but she giggled none the less, her overbite patently obvious as chubby cheeks bunched up and shone with the joy of the afternoon, good weed, and even better company. "Might be good, yeah," she breathed and crushed the remnants of her smoke into a well loved ashtray on the deck. "You got people that'll come?" Her tongue felt heavy and dry, and she dragged herself up to her feet, an incline of her head encouraging Jo inward.
"I can think of a few," she replied, Emmeline Vance and those catty hitwizards coming to mind. She stood, pleasant warmth radiating from her lungs as she followed her newfound friend inward.
Indoors was a wild mess; the entire centre of the floor had been decimated, plank by plank, for firewood, and various staircases (transfigured from lord knew what) hung perilously from the ceilings. Agnes edged around a weak spot in the floor and reached out a hand to guide Jo along as well. She was headed toward the food. Whatever was cooking smelled amazing. "Shite like this won't get you sacked?"
"What I do as a private citizen isn't the Ministry's goddamn business," she replied, squeezing Agnes's hand as she too skirted the floor and caught scent from the kitchen. "You oughta visit me in Camden sometime. It's a little more punk. But we've got a similar vibe."
Agnes flashed a grin back at her compatriot as they dodged stoned musicians and falling bits of wood from the ceiling. "Well I will, then!" She said brightly, ducking underneath a low cut door that had clearly once been a wall between flats. Two large women were frying up vegetables and beans, and smiled at the newcomers. "Help yerself, lady. You're welcome here." A plate came to hand. "SHE'S A FRIEND," Agnes said, quite loudly, into the ear of one of the grey-haired ladies. The smile broadened
She took in a deep breath and speared a carrot. It was delicious. "Dear god, have I stumbled upon heaven?"
"Maybe!" Agnes twisted and grabbed some bread off of a shelf before sprawling haphazardly upon her elbows upon the kitchen table. She was avoided narrowly by a pot of something steaming but she didn't seem to notice, chewing absently, delightedly, on some of the brown stuff. She pushed some toward her new friend. "We always got space if you need a spot to squat in for a few days, weeks, years." People seemed to linger around here - even in the aftermath of an attack. It was heaven in its own little way.
"It's amazing," she said between a mouthful of vegetables and bread, admiring the spirit and courage of these people. She could learn a lesson from them. It was right out of one of her Maman's Victor Hugo novels. And here was Agnes, the champion of it all.
Agnes chewed and chewed until her stomach stuck out a bit and her tongue felt slightly less fuzzy. Music curled around them and she closed her eyes sometimes and swayed, sometimes broke out into song, sometimes reached over to keep Jo's hair from dangling into her food.
"Right," she finally stated in a huff of fullness. The world was still soft around the edges - just how she liked it - but she felt strength welling up in her. She'd be damned if those prejudiced pricks -- "GRAM!" And she was up and peering over a railing down several flights of open space. "GRAM GET THE CREW TOGETHER. SIT IN AT FLOREANS." It was an impressive sort of noise this little person could make.
Jo certainly sat up and took notice. There was a crew? "I'll go down to Camden and gather the punks ..."
Agnes's cheeks lit up in a pink glow. "I'll try and get some folks I know threw them journals too," she offered, grabbing one last piece of bread and pushing it into Jo's hands. "For the road, lady."
"Magnificent," was for the journals and the bread, alike. And she saluted Agnes with the bread, adding a kiss to either cheek as she began to pick her way back toward the door. Finally she felt as though she was doing something of worth; the protest, even if it was unsuccessful, would certainly make the press. And if she got fired, she didn't care too badly. Agnes was showing her it was possible to live well, if one lived together.