Regulation and Control

( Owl to Z. Smith )

Who: Astoria Greengrass and Zach Smith (and possibly Clare)
What: Astoria is being nosy checking up on Zach
When: Wednesday afternoon, 7 May (PREDATED)
Where: Zach's flat
Warnings: None other than Zach's potty mouth
Status: Closed, incomplete

It had been some time since Astoria had heard from or, for that matter, about Zach other than through the art deal connection, so it was clearly time for her to investigate what he was up to. She put on Muggle clothes--time spent with Draco had educated her enough that she could pass on the streets of London if she weren't investigated too closely--and headed into the Docklands to find his flat. Asking on the street here and there and keeping an eye on the semi-abandoned and condemned buildings eventually led her to the right one. It was locked, and in case Zach actually cared about such niceties--Astoria suspected not--she knocked on the door instead of just using a spell to get through.

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
What: Mila arouses Zach... with her 'words'.
Where: His house
When: 6th May, 2008 (I'm playing with time here. I don't really care... next week is finals and well, pfft. whatever.)
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Closed; complete

Mila felt like she was dealing with the worst hangover in the world when she woke up. Her head was pounding, her body ached, her mouth was dry, and… she looked around at the unfamiliar room wildly, at the cot she had been passed out on for god knows how long. Where the fuck was she? Standing up – no, bolting up, she wavered for a few moments… had she really been drinking? She never drank.

"Fucking hell," she muttered in Bulgarian, rolling up the sleeves on the huge shirt she was wearing and pulling her hair back with a rubber band she found on the window ledge. Near her wand. Well, at least she had that.

Where were her clothes? Her…
( If we were in your country, how the fuck would this go? )

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
Where: An old abandoned house near the Liverpool Airport
When: Friday (backdated)
What: Conversation.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; complete

Mila apparated to the hill prepared for anything, one arm covering her head and the other holding her wand tightly. Plains, plaines, planes… she had seen them before, and she had absolutely no desire to be close to them. Zach would have a better chance surviving a stampede than Mila's wrath if he even attempted to bring her on a plane. It wasn't going to happen.

The things she did to spend time with this boy. Her attachment was beyond even her own comprehension.

But here she was, and sure enough after only a minute of standing on the hill, a plane flew dangerously low, its engine roaring violently. Mila threw herself to the ground and shot up a spell that was mean to send up a protective net – instead it engulfed every last flicker of light in a quarter-mile radius. That lasted only three seconds before her fears and instinct took over and she canceled the charm.

( Then why do your eyes heat and shadow whenever you speak of him? )

( Owl to Z. Smith )

( Owl to Mila MacNair )

Who: Mila Macnair, Zach Smith, and Clare Smith
Where: Zach's house
When: Monday night, April 21
What: Mila, Zach and Clare get ready to go to the opera. Mila dances. Zach waxes poetic.
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed; complete

( Chiaroscuro. It was the word that came to mind when he saw her face, the delicate balance of light, a contrast between that which was illuminated and that which remained forever hidden. )

( Owl to Zach Smith )

Who: Christopher Warrington & Zacharias Smith
What: A meeting?
When: Sunday, April 20, 2008 - sometime after 9:30PM.
Where: Zach's studio/flat/warehouse thing.
Rating: PG (*gasp* I know you're shocked.)
Status: Closed, complete.
Note: This is the piece of glass/art that Zach shows Chris. :)


( ...could you whisper in my ear/the things you wanna feel/I'd give you anything/to feel it coming... )

Who: Nicolas Vaisey and Zacharias Smith
Where: The Spinner & Bergamot, a pub in wizarding London
When: Saturday afternoon
What: A business discussion & meeting of sorts
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; complete

"Hey, it was really fucking good of you to come," Zach said, holding his hand out nervously as he saw the other man approached. Nicolas Vaisey - what did Vaisey even do these days that he'd have an interest in an art gallery going bankrupt? But it was worth a try and Smith even managed a weak grin as he looked at him, his head tilted slightly. He stumbled back in his seat and folded his arms, slouching back so that his long legs could extend under the table.

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
Where: A movie theatre near Mathwall.
When: Thursday night (BACKDATED)
What: Mila and Zach go to the movies. OOPS.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; complete

"I read that the first time a film was shown, the people watching almost died of heart attacks because they thought that the train on screen was going to kill them." Mila glanced at Zach warily out of the corner of her eye, her face still staring up at the signs above them – black and white letters advertising different films, each one more strange sounding to her than the last. Horton Hears a Who… it sounded frightening. She wasn't sure she wanted to see a horror movie for her first (and probably only film). In fact, she still wasn't quite sure how he managed to convince her to come in the first place.

"Promise me that we can leave if I come even close to having a heart attack?"

( How fucking bad can a movie called CLOVERFIELD be? )

( Owl to Z. Smith )

Who: yuri chekhov, zach smith, gwawr halpen (NPC)
What: Gwawr has stopped in town overnight and Yuri doesn't know what to do with himself. Solution? Ask Zach with Gwawr in tow.
Where: London
When: April 19, late morning
Rating: PG-13 for language. Like you had to ask.

The Daimler coughed wearily to a stop across the street from the warehouse. Yuri had a faint, anxious smile- to anyone other than his passenger he would've looked simply amused, but his expressions were hardly so regular to one who knew him- that he directed out the windshield or at nothing. The woman beside him was leaning forward, her head over she dashboard as she tried to get a look at their destination. "Here? Zach lives here?"

"Yeah," Yuri said, unbuckling his seatbelt smoothly. All of his movements were much more carefully executed than normal. "Where else are you going to put a furnace?"

"Think he'll let me see his stuff?" Gwawr's legs were crossed, her knees against the glove box. They were bare, her shoes abandoned on the floor. When she opened the car door and looked out, the ground covered with refuse and broken glass, she put them on with reluctance.

"I don't know." Yuri said. He doesn't let me see his glass most of the time.

How many hours had they been together? Yuri glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly eleven. Three hours- it had seemed like weeks, slow and painful, but at least the awkward stage had passed. On his part. She had just waltzed in and tossed her stuff in the middle of his sitting room- in the rectory. Thankfully, the priests rarely bothered their cleaning man. It wasn't like they were going to be fucking like rabbits and making a lot of racket unless they started screaming at one another.

That, too, was unlikely he thought as he crossed the street and knocked on the door three times with his foot. (Normally he didn't knock.) When they fought, it was with silence, or in the most deadly whispers a soul had ever heard.

Who: Mila Macnair and Zach Smith
Where: Mathwall, and a nearby restaurant
When: Wednesday, April 16
What: Protests, graffiti, and breakfast. All in a day’s work.
Rating: R for language.
Status: Closed; complete

(  Usually there is a fucking puzzle involved that I try to solve, and usually I can fucking not, so I pass it on with my fucking work for someone else to fucking look over and try their fucking luck at. )

Who: Judith Cellditch and Zacharias Smith
Where: Cellditch Galleries
When: Thursday, April 17
What: Packing. (takes place before Chris' owl)
Rating: G
Status: Closed; complete

"It's over, Zach," Judith said as she taped down the box, her touch still gentle in memory of the object inside. "I'm going to - oh, I don't know, go to school or work as a used broom salesperson or something." Zach looked up from where he was feeding Jemmy with wary eyes.

( I might have been wrong about... )

( Owl to J. Cellditch )

Who: Theodore Nott and Zacharias Smith
Where: Near the Brixton Windmill
When: Thursday, April 17, during the school/work day
What: Hm. Chance encounter. Or so Zach thinks. *cue evil music here*
Rating: TBD for hot monkeysex
Status: Open; in progress

His back was pressed against the park bench as he laid on, long legs curled up so that he could rest his sketchbook on his knees. The windmill was casting long shadows against the paper, making it difficult to see the paler lines grazing the page and Zach increased the pressure, making every line thicker and darker as he watched the turbines tilting with the wind. It was a brilliant day, the sun so sharp and clear that it burnt the eye and he blinked hard as the shutters of shadow flickered against his face.

In the distance, the sound of sirens ruptured the peace, blaring, wheeling lights shining against the tips of his battered trainers, flashes of yellow and blue against the pavement. Airplanes roared overhead, the slapping sound of a jump rope hit ground, the choking acid of smoke tarred his lungs as he breathed it all in. For all of that, Brixton was comfortable in a way that the alleys of Diagon would never be. It reminded him of home.

( Wrapped Parcel sent to Christopher Warrington )

Who: Colm Hennessey and Zacharias Smith
Where: Zach's old flat, wizarding London
When: 2004
What: When not to say "I love you".
Rating: PG, mention of sex/fluids
Status: Closed; complete

( I'm not going to say it back. )

Who: Christopher Warrington and Zacharias Smith
Where: the streets of wizarding London
When: April 12, early morning
What: An encounter in the aftermath of Mathwall and all that occurred.
Rating: G
Status: Closed; incomplete.

His step was still stiff despite what felt like the aftermath of a thousand spells. He should have known better than to try and make it for the studio after leaving Clare with Judith, he should've known better than to try and weave his way through the winding streets of Diagon looking for powder, and he most definitely should've known better than to stop and stare as he saw a thin, dark figure walking across the cobblestone, his hair slightly rumpled, his eyes shadowed as if he was contemplating something dangerous. Like litigation.

Zach jerked his head away with a snort, then shoved his hands back in his pockets. Not letting his eyes catch, he stumbled across the sidewalk, feet careful to step over the cracks in it. Not because he was superstitious but because it gave him an object - something to look at, to measure. Something he could hold. The lines traced a story, spoke of earthquakes and thunderstorms, of spells hurled mad during the second war, their shadows still burned in concrete. Suddenly lost in the moment, he knelt, his finger grazing one such shadow underneath a stairwell, his finger coming away black, a coarse print remaining in the powder. There was something about it that... tingled.