Arabella (lastdayofwonder) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-03-15 12:09:00 |
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Current music: | "Banking on a Myth" : Andrew Bird |
"...in commodities of the abstract sort..."
Who: Christopher Warrington and Arabella Mac
What: Arabella tries to sell information to Chris. Fail.
Where: the Sandwalk at Scamander Park
When: January 10, 2007
Rating: G
Status: Closed; complete
"You," Arabella came running up behind the man, sandy hair flailing behind her as she jogged to catch up, words catching in her throat. "You- I need to talk to you." Her fingers snagging the back of Warrington's shirt, she tugged, then dropped her hand, leaning down to find her breath.
It was dark in the sandwalk, tendrils of ivy snaking across the path where they had started to grow wild. Her eyes followed it rather than the older man's face, finding the plant trail infinitely more interesting than eyes or a chin. It twisted around a tall tree, nearly choking the life from it, she could tell by the roots. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, she made a note to herself to ask Ev why no one ever gardened here. It seemed odd to let anything called a "walk" grow so wild. Then again, there was still much about wizards she didn't understand.
Lifting her jaw, she saw that he was casting an imperious look across the top of her head. With a wave of her hand, Arabella said, "I've got information for you of the absolutely impossible sort."
"Of the absolutely impossible sort?" Chris' brows rose a bit. The girl in front of him looked familiar, but he couldn't, for the life of him, believe he'd ever met her formally. He'd been rather startled by the shout, but wrinkling his shirt had been unnecessary - also, it was cold and he'd only come outside for his lunch to see if the plants along the walk were exhibiting any strange or varied sorts of growth. They weren't. Pity.
"Who might you be, precisely?" And why, in Merlin's name, was she dashing about the gardens looking for him? One question at a time. He let one brow fall, the other staying arched as he looked her over. She did look terribly familiar.
"Arabella," A slight toss of her hair and then she extended her fingers to him gracefully, as if she expected him to take them with a kiss. When it didn't come, fingers flittered away like butterfly wings, falling to her hip in an easy gesture. "My brother's one of you- Ev?"
She waited for a moment, giving him the chance to give her a startled look or perhaps a muttered expletive. If that was the case, she'd stomp on his foot. Twice, perhaps. He looked as if he could use the attention.
Chris' expression remained perfectly blank for a moment before comprehension dawned. "Mac? Everett Mac?" Which meant - what was a Muggle doing running around the grounds? He didn't entertain any of the usual Pureblood prejudice against Muggles, but really, they shouldn't be allowed on the premises without guides, at the very least, to ensure they didn't get eaten by a plant being kept for observation or something else equally ridiculous.
Extending his hand, then, he gave her a half-bow that was anything but mocking, then straightened and allowed his expression to fall into a more questioning set. "What is this information you have for me, then?" And why did she have it? And why was it for him?
"You are the one who's interested in wild magic, right?" Her eyes took on a worried cast, the brown darkening slightly and catching the flicker of fading sun in their depths. "I normally give this sort of information to the Brain but he's a bit lost in his own worlds at the moment."
Her arms swinging slightly as she walked forward, sandaled toe teasing a stray leaf, the woman said, "It's about... a piece of glass. Artwork, I meant. Something I saw."
More interested now, Chris nodded. "Yes, I'm quite interested in Wild Magic..." He wasn't entirely sure what it might have to do with glasswork, but he was willing to listen. He'd seen and heard stranger things in the last decade, so it wasn't with any sort of scepticism that he followed her down the path. "What is it that you saw?"
"A mirror," she said quickly. "And the person in it was... talking to me. Whispering."
"A... whispering mirror?" Chris thought for a moment, trying to remember if he'd heard anything like this before, then attempting to decide whether or not she was having him on. It wouldn't be the first time one of his co-workers thought it would be amusing to send him on a wild goose chase. It wasted valuable time and energy. "Was it your own reflection doing the whispering? It might have been a charm... where was this?" Truthfully, if her story was genuine, it might have been a Witch or Wizard playing a joking on the Muggle. Things were, supposedly, more tolerant now, but the reality of the situation wasn't always as nice as the Ministry tried to paint it.
"I was raised with a wizard," Arabella pointed out as she lit a cigarette. It met her lips for half a second then, after blowing a neat circle into the air between them, she continued, red nails tapping the ash onto the ground. The wind was picking up the flecks and blowing them lightly against her face, freckling the pale skin. "I do actually have some idea of what a spell looks like."
Then she paused. "It was a Muggle place. An art gallery over in Hammersmith. One of those back alley places where all the goths hang outside and smoke cloves and you can't see eye for eyeliner." Humming slightly, she said, "What's the address worth to you? Or the artist?"
"Raised with a Wizard," Chris said, nodding slowly, "But not by a Wizard and you are not a Witch yourself. I'm not saying you wouldn't know a spell when you see one, but it's very easy to make something appear real, authentic, when it's not. Even most magical beings can be fooled."
He shrugged, though, and then snorted softly. "You expect me to pay for the information?" Pausing again, he watched the ash as it drifted through the air, bizarrely similar to snow, and her nails caught his attention for a moment. Such a strange mixture of details, such an odd juxtaposition.
"How much do you want for the information?"
"I know that," she said, "And it really isn't much different than being mundane. Things fool you that aren't magical sometimes. People." Shifting slightly, Arabella sent another puff of smoke into the air, watching the rings drift.
"Twenty quid and two tickets to the circus," with another flick of ash to the winds, "And you're getting out cheap."
"Does your brother know you're attempting to extort money from Ministry personnel? It probably wouldn't look very good for him," Chris said, his tone bland, "If someone reported that his sister, who is, I believe, unauthorized to be on the premises, was running about unsupervised."
"Find it yourself then. Art gallery. Hammersmith." She lifted her chin. "Owned by some woman named Judith and I don't recall the street. Have a lovely day." Tossing her cigarette towards him, Arabella walked through the arch of the sandwalk, staring at him for a moment below the ivy before she disappeared.