| Details for Apothecary Purchases Forgotten |
| Summary: | Magnus comes in to pick up the polyjuices that he'd ordered a couple months back, and then proceeds to cover his tracks with varying degrees of success. |
| Date: | 18 November 1937 |
| Location: | MacDiarmarda Apothecary |
| Related: | Customers Welcome, Trouble's Brewing |
| Characters |
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MacDiarmarda Apothecary (#1058R) Diagon Alley
Tue Nov 18, 1937 ((Sat Nov 03 21:20:00 2012)) (B,2 SE)
It is a fall evening. The weather is cool and raining.
Built in the late 1700s, MacDiarmarda Apothecary has been in business from the building's inception. Windows line the walls facing the street, a fireplace creates a cheery atmosphere within. Shelves line the walls from floor to high ceiling, dusty wooden boxes of who knows what are held there. There is a large library ladder on wheels that helps the proprietress gather ingredients that may be out of her grasp normally. A counter stretches across the back of the store, a door behind it. There are two work areas, one next to the other. One is purely a 'cutting up' and preparing area, the table showing marks from use over the centuries. The other is the actual creating of a potion area- cauldrons, distillery and various sources of heat.
The store's interior is packed full of goods, with barrels of Purple Toad Warts, Flobberworm Mucus, Leech Juice and other large quantities of potion ingredients on the floor. Shelves that line the wall are filled with jars and old wooden boxes that contain Knotgrass, Aconite, Newt Eyes.. and many, many other herbs, roots and powders. Bunches of feathers, fangs and claws hang from the ceiling, and in some cases the unwary customer may knock into them. The combination of smells coming from all these different ingredients PLUS the age of the shop itself, creates an overall.. stench of bad eggs and rotten cabbages that permeates every corner of the room.
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Niamh's gotten into the habit of putting all finished potions into containers the moment they're ready; depending upon aging requirements, certainly. She's got double blood potions bottled and set to the side for one delivery, some sleeping draughts near them, all neatly marked in a steady, flowing hand. Along with how to use them, indications and contra-indications. For the less.. popular potions of hers, they're under the counter, set and bagged. She know them without having to open each, and as there is no other employee, her method certainly works. So.. at the distillery now, the apothecary is at work collecting distilled.. something (it's green!) that's run through the tubes into a small, almost empty beaker, her attention fully upon her work.
Outside, on the street, a man Apparates into existence; Magnus is dressed in nondescript hooded robes, just as he had been the last two times he's stopped by the shop. He looks around briefly as if he's looking for something, then opens the door to the apothecary and steps inside, then pulls the door closed again. The diplomat moves further into the interior of the building until his grey eyes land on Niamh, at which point he stops and addresses her: "Miss O'Shea - how are you this evening?"
Hazel eyes lift to the sound of apparation, and Niamh immediately recognizes the hooded robed gentleman, and as she's addressed, she manages a shopkeeper's smile. "Mister.. Caesar.." The second word is given with hesitation, and she continues soon after. "I was goin' t'look for ye soon. Your potions are done, bottled an'.." Crossing the room from the distillery, she makes for the counter.. "..ready. I got five out of 'em."
Magnus pulls his hood down and smiles at the woman as she strolls over to the counter. "Excellent - your extra efforts are greatly appreciated. And you have the potion made from my hair as well, then?" He folds his arms over his chest as he waits, his long, dark hair framing his gaunt face. "If you please, put them all in a single bag. Much easier to tote them around that way."
"Ye handed me two.. an' ye didn't elaborate on whose they were," Niamh offers back, her tones sounding that Irish lilt. "Blonde, ye had.. an' dark. Had much t'work with on the blond." Ending at the counter, she pulls a wand up and points it at the bag, a quick little enchantment most shopkeepers use is done to keep the bottles from breaking, spilling, or otherwise causing consternation during transportion. Each bottle is blue.. rather, the blonds are in blue, rather fancy bottles, the brunette, in stoppered reds.
The gaunt man offers a thin smile at the apothecary's words. "Well - it won't do any harm telling you, but the dark hairs were mine." Magnus watches her bag up the bottles, allowing the silence to stretch out in the meanwhile. Eventually he moves closer to the counter, his pale eyes turning down to catch a last glimpse of the multicolored bottles as they're sorted out and stashed - then they flicker up and lock on Niamh's. "I like that accent of yours, Miss O'Shea."
Once she's done, there's no *clink* of the bottles to be heard from within, and she sets it on the counter between them. "Oh, aye? Sorry 't'weren't good for Hallow's E'en. That would've been an' interestin' trick." Niamh still has her wand in hand, but it's a casual hold, and she slides back on her stool. "Ye paid me handsomely for them, an' it's in full." The compliment causes a slight pinking at the top of her cheeks, and she chuckles, though his eyes hold something there. She's a firm believer in.. eyes. The smile from the soft laugh remains, and she cants her head, "Thank ye.. I'll pass the compliment on to my mum an' da for pickin' the right place of my birth."
"It would have, wouldn't it? I'm afraid my plans… fell through, in a manner of speaking. But I'll find a way to put them to use, anyhow." Magnus grins, unfolding his arms so that he can set one long-fingered hand on the counter. He puts his weight on it and leans forward slightly, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second in observance of the darkening of the woman's cheeks. His other arm has dropped to his side. "It's a very pleasant lilt. And as much as I'd love to pass on the word to your parents, Miss O'Shea…" His thin, angular face lowers so that he's only an inch or two away from the apothecary. "The kind of compliment I'd like to give you may not go over so well, with them."
Niamh's gaze is held by the gentleman, identified by the name 'Caesar', but known to her as Magnus Troy. Not that she'll speak of it, no.. "I'm sorry t'hear it.. such things won't keep too long. I've got it on the bottle.. best used by.." and she wants to look down at the bag, but manages only the brief flickering glance that doesn't do much for her other than offer that briefest of gestures. As he leans in, there's that.. start to offer another polite 'Thank you' before the widening of the eyes happens when she begins to realize what sort of compliment that could be for her.. and make her parents cross. "Um.." and she licks her lips, her gaze remaining, "I'm sure.. tha' anything ye might say might be.. suitable for them.." And there's that moment, then, where she also realizes she's a little stuck. Can't move backwards.. on the chair. Sideways?
"No worries. I'll use them before they expire." Magnus keeps his icy grey gaze pinned on Niamh's - though under other circumstances he might be rather distracted by her tongue. At the moment, however, his lasciviousness is almost entirely for the benefit of /her/ distraction. "Is that so, Miss O'Shea? Shall I tell you what I'd say to them, then?" He doesn't move any closer to her, though his arm has slowly elevated itself from out of the pocket of his robe over the last few seconds. His wand, held between them where neither is looking, is pointed at the apothecary's chest. "Just one word. Imperio."
Niamh watches him, and those steel grey eyes of his. She really does gravitate to the eyes, those windows to the soul. One can see so much in there, and sometimes, so very little. Her teeth worry at her bottom lip and even if her fingers toy with the wand, she's almost forgotten that it's actually there. Almost, but it's too late. The apothecary isn't an auror, or a hit wizard, or anyone that even vaguely requires guile and ability and reflexes. She. Works. With. Plants. How fast can they possibly go? To her credit, she actually begins to raise her wand to fend off what she may think as an amourous advance, but instead discovers that single word.. and she stops for the moment, her expression lingering; the stirrings of concern, the bitten lip..
Unfortunately for Niamh, she's not quite quick enough; a bolt of light lances between the witch and wizard, and Magnus's crooked smile widens slightly. He leans in to give the woman an affectionate, chaste kiss, then stands back and brushes himself off as if he's just finished doing something distasteful. "Miss O'Shea, you have a record of purchases in your shop which, I believe, you write in such a way that it would be difficult for anyone else to fabricate entries. Take it out and open it to the day that I purchased my potions."
Niamh doesn't shy away from the kiss that's pressed, and at the request, rises from her stool to go get her ledger. For any that might be looking in, it's all a very natural looking scene. It's at the workbench so that not only the notations of what potions are there, but also which ingredients, what needs to be restocked. She keeps very detailed notes, and it's in a rather large, old tome that the information is kept. She hefts it up and brings it back, her Irish lilt obviously in place. "Here.." and in setting it down, turns to the page in question. Lying amongst the other potions created, complete with margin notes.
"Good, thank you." Magnus raises a gloved hand to his chin and strokes his jaw for a moment, then crosses his arms over his chest once more. "Leave the entry for the blonde hair in place. But I want you to record that you had a bit of hair left over…" He reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a small leather bag, which he drops on the counter; a few blonde hairs are poking out, but unlike the first set, they're straight - not curly. "Those. And the entry for /my/ hair…" One corner of his lips tugs up in a half-smile. "Erase it, as if the order had been cancelled. Make it all look as natural as if you'd done it as a matter of course." Offhandedly, his gaze flicks to the door for a moment and he points his wand in that direction. "Colloportus." There's a squelching sound as the door seals itself.
Niamh reaches over to take the hair and sets it to the side for the time being. Taking up her quill, she dips underneath the counter for her ink well, and sets it atop. The entries now have to be changed, some crossed out, some notes changed, all with the same flowing hand as which wrote it. And, of course, the note in the margin regarding the change of orders, the cancellation. Hazel eyes rise at the sound of her door, her brows rising before she looks to Magnus again. "All's right."
Magnus watches quietly as the woman makes adjustments to her ledger. After she finishes, he smiles and picks up the bag with his potions, hoisting it carefully to his side. With his other hand, he points the wand back at the apothecary. "I'm afraid I'll have to alter your memories of my little visit just a wee bit, Miss O'Shea. Close your eyes." He waits until she does, and then ticks his wand just marginally up and down, ending the influence of the Curse. An instant later - but perhaps not quite quickly enough - the wand flicks again. "Obliviate."
The marks in the book are done; ink is drying quickly, but it's not yet closed so it doesn't smear. Niamh's eyes close in the command, her hand dropping to put the quill back onto the counter as her body relaxes. It's at that moment, however, that tap of the wand that releases the horrible waking fugue that suffers through. That moment is the one that sends a panic down her spine, and her hand moves to pick up a rather fancy, weighted glass inkwell with a brass neck, with a glass stoppered top and *flings* it at Magnus as hard as she can.
Although his Memory Charm strikes the apothecary, Magnus doesn't manage to get out of the way of the flung inkwell. In fact, he barely sees it coming until it collides with his temple, shattering the thick glass and drenching him in the viscous black substance. "Maudite vache…!" He raises an arm and swipes it across his face to try and clear the worst of it from his vision, then, squinting in pain, re-aims his wand and hisses, "Stupefy!"
Niamh straightens, her eyes widening as the obliviate hits her, the blanking of the eyes a sure sign that something, at least, certainly took. There's the confusion that plays there, the uncertainty, but also the knowledge that she has to go, she has to flee!
When Magnus' non-magical curse rises in the air, well.. that settles it right there. It.. doesn't sound good, not at all, but she hit! And the ink! And, with any luck, it'll leave a bruise! Niamh's not really willing to hang around and crow over her shot, even if it does look like a Kodak moment. It's what she'd said she'd do.. do what she had to do to get away, and with a grab of her wand, she cries the command *disapparate!*, knowing exactly where it is she has to go, wants to go. Intuitively. A *crack* fills the air, then.. nothing. The emptiness of an apothecary shop remains.
Magnus stands quietly for a moment after the woman disapparates in front of him, uttering a low curse in the otherwise silent room. Eventually he points his wand quickly at himself and mutters, "Tergeo." Then, fuming, he steps closer to the counter and flips the ledger shut with a single gloved finger. The bag of blonde hair he'd left on the counter for the apothecary is snatched back up. A moment later, he disappears with another loud crack.