Igor Arkadyevitch Karkaroff (fools_russian) wrote in the_rift_rpg, @ 2008-11-20 23:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | igor karkaroff, oliver ollivander |
Who: Igor and Ollivander
Why: Two ships passing in the nightlife and discussing current events
Where: At some sultry cabaret, in the Underground
When: At night, of course!
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed / Incomplete
Following the the directions Ollivander wrote out in the journals, Igor found himself in the midst of a club district like no other. It was as if every single bar, dance hall and tavern from every era was represented here, vomited out on the street in a mixed array of color, light and sound.
"Why didn't Pomfrey tell us about this place in her letter?" Igor exclaimed to nobody in particular, his voice drowned out by the catchy music that poured from a nearby discotheque, which was indicative of the time period he came from. Igor smiled, despite himself. There was something here for everybody, and his only complaint? It was all English. If only Paris' La Libellule was here, or the five story Karlovy Lazne in Old Town, Prauge. Then he would feel more at home. This not being the case, Igor wasn't going to let homesickness get in the way.
I must tell Narcissa about this Underground, he thought, poking his head into the doors of places that seemed the most interesting. And Antonin Vadimovich, too, he added, wondering if Dolohov's anger had dissipated after he had cursed him within an inch of his life. Dolohov was writing to Igor, which was a good sign. Still, the Dark Lord told all the Death Eaters not to harm the quote unquote traitors, and Dolohov could just be following orders. Though, there was a big difference between following orders and asking to be informed about the existence of a suitable nightspot.
Igor paused in the middle of the street, when something caught his eye. Between a thatched roof pub, circa fifteenth century, and a much more modern, black-lit club where everybody inside was dressed in a pale imitation of vampires, a solitary figure stood in the alley. Leaning against the wall with an unmistakable 'come hither' look, the young man smirked when he caught Igor's attention. Was he solicitating? And if so, how does one pay for this sort of thing without currency? Definitely interested, Igor stood, debating the prudency of this action, though he was leaning toward irresponsibility and indiscretion.