Who: Hestia Jones & Argus Pyrites When: Saturday afternoon, among the lunch rush Where: Diagon Alley What: A bit difficult to murder each other in broad daylight, yeah? Rating/Status: PG-13, Closed
It had been exactly six months, three weeks and four days since the last time the pocket of Hestia's robes had been weighed down by a small silver cigarette case. It had been a milestone, the longest she'd ever been able to go without smoking. She had been pretty proud of herself, even taking to rubbing it in Alexander's face every time she saw him. He was pretty devout himself, which never made sense to his older sister - shouldn't athletes know better than to smoke?
Shouldn't Healers, too?
Hestia grimaced as she leaned against the side of Twilfitt and Tatting's after a small intake of breath. She was damn ashamed of herself. The idea that people could have possibly seen her name in conjunction with the witch hunt put out by Angelina and Verity was a bit upsetting, to say the least. However, she knew that with everything going on now, that ought to really be the last of her worries.
Taking one last drag, Hestia let the smoke escape from her lips as she dropped the rest of it on the ground. A small group of children, glaringly oblivious to Hestia's form, rushed past her filling the already incredibly loud Diagon Alley with louder, more noticeable laughs and giggles. Her eyes followed them, an odd sort of smile affecting her lips, before she took a step toward the street. Her body collided with a hard, unmistakeably human body.
"Oh, bullocks, I'm terribly-"
Her eyes took in the sight of the nearly magnificent robes and traveled up to a face she certainly expected not to see. Argus.