(1937-09-24) Chilly Words for a Chilly Morning
Details for Chilly Words for a Chilly Morning
Summary: Sweeney chats with Veruca and Magnus, then exchanges some dark words with Sloan.
Date: September 24, 1937
Location: Borough, London
Related: None

Borough is dominated by the Borough Market, the largest indoor market in London and a place where people come from all over the country and even the rest of Europe to sell and trade food products. Even outside the market itself, street vendors are everywhere, especially under the viaduct. The area has a number of fine restaurants near the Market as well, and a few pubs and hotels to entertain travelers who have come for the market.

It's another one of those dreafully cold days that pops up in the time between summer and fall when the weather is still trying to decide just what to do. Sweeney steps out of his apartment, turning around to lock up with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He drops his keys on the stoop and groans as he leans down to pick them up. "Damn the cold," he murmurs as he finally manages to secure the door. He turns around and pulls his pea-coat tightly around him with a murmur, looking up and down the street.

The Borough Market attracts many regular customers from the wizard and muggle worlds alike. Veruca makes a shopping trip to the market nearly every fortnight, and she is just finishing up with a vendor at one of the outdoor stalls. She's smartly dressed, likely on a bit of time off between work tasks, and already looks like her mind is turning back to work matters. Stepping away from the stall, her steps veer her around a mailbox, and she moves to cross the street.

when it gets this cold Sloan doesn't sleep, and so he finds himself wandering the streets. dressed in a pair of leather work boots, grey wool slacks, and a 3/4 length thick wool coat that looks to have seen better days, he makes his way along the stalls as well. Taking things in with steel grey eyes.

Sweeney slides his gloves on, stretching his fingers a bit and spies Veruca. He gives her a nod and steps down from the stoop, offering her as much of a smile as a grumpy, old man can muster in the cold, gesturing her to speed up across the street, "Best to be careful crossing around here. Trucks come in at all hours of the day." Being the criminal that he is, Sweeney knows that not all of those trucks will stop after they've hit someone on their way to drop off their less-than-legal wares. He looks down the sidewalk and gives the Auror a nod.

Crossing diagonally, heading vaguely toward Sweeney, Veruca makes it to the safety of the opposite side of the street unscathed. The words of warning bring a curve to her lips, a sparse, polite smile. "Thank you, Mr. Sweeney. It does pay to have a care here, yes." Her steps slow, not quite stopping, as her gaze sweeps over the man slowly. "How are you this crisp morning?" she asks, before her eyes shift to the steely-eyed man a bit down the walk.

Returning the nod to Sweeney with a slightly upraised chin, Sloan pauses at a vendor's stall to look over a frost wilted apple. Dropping tuppence on the wood, he looks toe apple over again, his hands encased in fingerless gloves, the tips of his fingers having started to take on a hint of white to them.

Sweeney chuckles a bit, looking at Veruca, "I'm damn cold, I'll tell ye that." He tucks his gloved hands into the pockets of his pea-coat. "How about yourself? Done a bit of shopping, I see? O'Donnell didn't try to sell you one of his minks, did he?"

Wandering around marketplaces is one of Magnus's favorite pastimes; it's a good way to hear things (mostly rubbish, but there are exceptions). He's dressed in a khaki-colored peacoat and a charcoal high-collared sweater with a fedora to top it off. He's smoking a small, sweet-smelling cigar and browsing idly, occasionally pausing long enough to lean over and examine the goods of a stall more closely.

Veruca's own coat is a tweed that looks a bit light, considering the chill air. Warming charms are a fashionable witch's best friend, and no muggle the wiser. A black string bag hangs from one wrist, and her hands are tucked into the coat's pockets tidily. Her smile actually takes the slightest bit more warmth, "You mean the man with the coats that are practically barking? No, he and his stock heeled on command." Her eyes don't settle on the big man for long, moving to take in the auror and the apple, and then the increasingly familiar form of her cousin not far off. Her attention does return to Sweeney for another question, "Out for a morning walk?"

Sweeney smirks at her and says, "Aye, that's the one. I've told him to take his wares somewhere else, but he continues to ignore me." He makes a mental note to do something about this and follows Veruca's eyes to the man he was talking about Musollini with a few days ago. Magnus gets a nod and he returns to address Veruca's question, "Oh, yes. Have to keep the old bones moving or I might just keel over one day."

Apparently Magnus doesn't find anything that's of particular interest to him amongst the vendors' stalls; he turns away from them and begins making his way back down the street, but pauses when he notices Sweeney's wave. He recognizes Veruca as he's raising his own hand to wave in kind, and turns so that he can make his way over to the pair. "Morning! I'm not interrupting any important business discussions, I hope?"

settling nearby on a handy iece of stonework, Sloan bites into his apple. chewing quietly, he reaches into his pocket. He slips a small pouch from inside. Apple set down beside him for a moment, he pulls a small slip fo paper from the pouch, then a pinch of tobacco. Tobacco applied to paper, he tucks the pouch away as he absently rolls a cigarette with slightly frostbitten fingers. The apple picked up and regarded once more.

Old bones. The comment brings another sweep of Veruca's eyes the length of the tall irishman, briefly appraising. Before she can comment, perhaps with good timing, Magnus is there, and Veruca settles her gaze on her cousin. "Good morning, Magnus. No business going on here. It's good to see you again."

Sweeney pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks the ashes to the ground, sizing up Magnus as he approaches. "Just simple, idly bantering going on. How are you on this cool morning, Magnus?" He peers around the man, watching the Auror as he goes about his business.

"And you, cousin. I'm quite well, Mr. Sweeney, thank you; frosty morning such as this make me feel a need to get up and move around a little." Magnus pats his stomach through his thick garments and grins in a crooked, self-deprecating manner. "Keeps me from getting too fat in my old age, you see," he says, as if he were oblivious to the fact that he's practically a scarecrow already. He notices Sweeney's eyes darting around him to someone else, but doesn't do the fellow the injustice of turning around and tipping off whoever he's looking at.

Another bite from the Apple and Sloan looks around quietly. Eyes settling in Sweeney with the cigarette, he stands and approaches the group. Keeping the apple in one hand, he moves close enough to be heard without yelling. "Ye got Flame?"

You would think she was in the company of ancients, the way the men speak, and Veruca can't help the wryly amused cast that takes her smile. "Perhaps you old men should be bundled up in blankets somewhere," she muses aloud, her tone without malice. "Maybe the hot springs would liven you up a bit." The approach of the auror brings her eyes about to regard him, letting the men speak up as they wish.

Sweeney offers his lighter to the Auror with a smile and turns to look at Veruca, "Oh, you won't be talking as tough when you've reached forty-seven, that's for damn sure," He chuckles slightly and looks over Magnus, saying, "What brings you to this part of town?"

Magnus turns slightly to observe Sloan when he moves closer to the group. He tips his hat politely, smoking curling up from between his lips and hovering under its brim for a second or two before drifting away. "Tch, are you making fun of us old codgers, my sweet young maiden of a cousin? I have to admit that a hot spring does sound lovely." Sighing, he shakes his head and chuckles, turning his attention back to Sweeney. "Oh, just looking for a few things to stock the pantry with. I got scolded by the household help this morning for failing to procure enough groceries to last the week."

Taking the lighter, Sloan closes one eye as he strikes the flint. dragging deep, the hands the lighter back once more as his head is immediately wreathed in smoke from stale tobacco. "Grateful to ye." Looking at the trio in turn, he's not really clandestine about it. memorizing facial features for a moment, he looks back to Sweeney as he speaks. "Heard Weasel Tommy got found in th' Thames couple nights back, aye? Least it was someone wearing his coat and most o his teeth." Pausing to take another drag, the irishman pushes the Bowler back on his head and adds. "Himself, I figures it was one of those Self inflected deaths, aye?"

Dark brows arch as Veruca hm's lightly. "And here I would never have thought you a day under eighty," she murmurs, then with slightly more volume, "Perish the thought, cousin. I shall never be accused of picking at the infirm." Sloan, as he studies her in her turn, gets a level look returned, one which doesn't waver as he converses with Sweeney.

Sweeney takes a drag off of his cigarette and exhales the smoke slowly, looking over at his fellow Irishman, "Aye. It's strange how he managed to inflict all thirteen of those knife wounds to his own back. Damn travesty, if you ask me." He slides a switchblade out of his pocket and offers it to Sloan, saying, "For your apple."

"You're too kind," Magnus quips, putting on a wry smile for Veruca's benefit and then, with some interest, quiets down to listen to the exchange between the other two men. His cigar has sputtered out, so he produces a book of cedar matches and relights it, his smile not quite disappearing - though it grows visibly more thin and slanted.

Face carved in Stone, it's hard to read his expression as the switchbalde is offered. shaking his head, the auror grunts and pulls a long bladed scalpel from his sleeve. "Thanks all th' same, got me own. Nice knife though. Were I a cautious man, I'd maybe keep it in a nice box somewheres out of th'public view. knife like tha' could be stolen easily enough." Another drag is taken and Sloan grunts. "Bit of a letdown though. Lad still owed me a shilling on a bet from last month, aye? Least he had th'grace tae not die by magical means. Means Knocker an' I don' have tae slog throuh th' back streets lookin' fer his killer."

Veruca observes the exchange without a change of expression. Boys with their toys. She turns to her two chance companions and nods. "If you gentlemen will all kindly excuse me, I do believe it's time for me to be on my way." Because she wouldn't say aloud that the testosterone is getting as thick as a London fog around here. Is that a bit of amusement in her eyes? "I trust we'll meet again soon." And then Sloan is given something of a nod as well, and the dark haired witch moves to be on her way down the road.

Sweeney smirks at Sloan and says, "Aye. Praise Merlin for that. I've heard you Aurors are a rough bunch to get loose from." He looks off after Veruca and perhaps watches a bit too closely as she walks away, "Enjoy your morning. Mind your crossings."

"Indeed. For me, as well, I think - shall you like company on your way back, cousin?" Magnus nods to Sweeney, looking as if he's very interested in staying but not rude enough to do so. "Good morning to you once again, Mr. Sweeney." Sloan gets a nod as well. "And you, sir." With that, he sets off after Veruca at a leisurely pace, taking a few last puffs of his cigar and then dropping its remains under one booted heel to stamp it out on the cold pavement.

Shrugging slightly, Sloan drags on his cigarette again. "Depends on the Auror I think. Me? I'll find a person eventually. I takes my time, I stays patient, and one night, they comes home, their dog is seeping on th' floor they creeps up to bed and just as they's driftin off, I leans over and whispers ever so softly in their ear. "Yer knicked." Knocker on th' other hand tends to walk through walls in pursuit. Nodding to the others as they leave, sloan kills his cigarette, and takes another bite of his apple. Once they're out of range, he speaks a little more openly. "Never let it be said ye don' do good work. Yer an artist in yer own right. I see you in a pub, I'll buy ye a beer. I see ye at one of my crime scenes, I'll cut yer throat in self defense aye?" I a wierd off haded sort of way it truly was a compliment.

Sweeney smirks at Sloan and gives him a nod, "I do what I can to keep the criminals around here on a leash." His own cigarette is tossed to the ground and the bottom of his fine, Italian shoes snuffs it out." He gives the man a smirk and pats him on the arm, "You'll never see me at a crime scene, lad. Even if I'm still there." He straightens his coat out and nods, saying, "I best be off to work, then."

This actually does get the ghost of a smile from Sloan as he nods. "One be just as good as t'other. Have a good day." And with that Sloan is moving again as well.

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