(1938-01-21) First Second Meetings
Details for First Second Meetings
Summary: Eupraxia goes out in disguise. Cyril doesn't recognize her, so she has some fun with it.
Date: Jan 21, 1938
Location: Farin Braw Restaurant
Related: -

It's a cold, late January evening out in Diagon Alley and Cyril Malfoy finds himself huddled for warmth in Farin Braw. Well, he's got warming charms on so it doesn't really matter where he goes, but Farin Braw is nice and cozy and there aren't that many people there at the moment. Chef Carmichael is reading a paper quietly as he leans up against the bar and Georgina is 'jiggling' about delivering food to the patrons.

Warming charms for not, the outside is just not very pleasant this time of year. The people are in drab, dull layers. Usually they're rushing from place to place. Everything is dim and damp. Perhaps it's the lack of spirit, but one Eupraxia Pyrites is -not- the single bright point in the Farin Braw. And she continues to be such a non-entity once she stpes in, not far behind Cyril. The woman is dressed much more sedately than usual. Her attire is on the latest Muggle trends, likely inspired by Italy in particular. A blouse in a deep plum has a shallow v-neckline that bears a keyhole allowing that flash of cleavage. The sleeves are a bit capped (something that's often a part of the woman's outfits) and she wears long black gloves to cover most of her arms. A long black skirt forms well to her hips and rear, terminating just shortly before heeled shoes in a darker shade than the blouse. Her hair is carefully formed into a chignon bun at the nape of her neck, bangs curled off to one side. Even her makeup is more elegant than overdone- plum eyes and dark red lips. She wears a white fur coat over it all and this she is distracted by removing for a moment once inside the doors.

Cyril had been watching the woman in the reflection of the windows of the few shops that the two of them had passed before they entered the restaurant. Quite intriguedly, one might add. Up until now he hadn't said anything, though. The golden-eyed heart-throb that is Cyril turns and looks to her as he approaches the bar, a curious look on his face as he remarks, "I feel like I know you from somewhere."

It's all a part of the master plan. Be so over the top most of the time that people cannot recognize you when you look like a normal human being. Eupraxia's lips curve in a steady smile as Cyril speaks to her. She smooths her blouse slightly, schooling features. The smile remains, but it's polite more than anything else. "It is quite possible. I daresay I encounter many people in my line of work… Though I don't think I could forget you… Cyril Malfoy, is it?" Maybe it's that famous family thing.

Cyril furrows his brow. Hrmm, Endira made the very same mistake of having Cyril at a disadvantage once. He eyes the woman even more curiously and says, "Who are you? How do you know me?"

There's a pause and a mental run-down of pen names and the like. Eupraxia's eyelids flutter, but she may just be giving the man a good look-over. "Oh! Have you forgotten? Dear me. I suppose it was a busy night… In the Leaky Cauldron, I believe?" Perhaps she's banking on him being a drinker. Or meeting a lot of women. Either would fit the basic profile she has of the man. A gloved hand is extended his way. "Lisette Fisher."

Cyril fits…neither of those stereotypes. He's actually quite a homebody when it comes down to it and he prefers his coffee to liquor. "The Leaky Cauldron, huh? I think I've been there about twice in my life and I'm sure I would have remembered you."

Lips press into a thin line and Eupraxia takes on a thoughtful expression. "Well, it must be -somewhere- then. I do spend a lot of time in Diagon." Which is true, considering it's where she works. The woman takes up a seat next to Cyril, smoothing her skirt as she does. "You said I looked familiar. Perhaps we can fill in the gaps? Or have we just passed one another by that often."

Chef Carmichael is standing behind the bar, his eyes moving between the two as they have their little tete-a-tete and his eyebrow slowly raising. The Scot just shakes his head and walks back into the kitchen. Cyril, however is much to engaged to notice. "Perhaps. Speaking of gaps being filled, I'm sure you haven't been one of the lucky girls. I remember those." He scratches his chin, "Where do you work?"

Pale blue eyes track the movement of that hand. Perhaps focused on the jawline. Ahem. Eupraxia folds one leg gently over the other. "Here and there," she offers with a wave of the hand. "I track down leads for the Daily Prophet. If they're uncertain if it's worth the time of a reporter, they'll send me to scope things out." Which is true, in a sense. Xia just does it for herself rather than having an intern do it. Helps ensure she gets the most juicy tidbits of a story.

Cyril continues to study her, still not putting two and two together. "The Daily Prophet, huh? I'm sure that's positively rivetting work. I met a journalist or something that worked there. Very Asian-inspired." He shrugs and turns to look at the bar, drumming his fingers on it.

Was that a twitch of lips? Amusement, purely. Maybe she's just flirting. Eupraxia dips her head in a nod, "I think I know who you're talking about. I hear she can be quite overwhelming at times." The woman turns towards the bar herself, squinting a bit towards the shelves of bottles. "Do you have any recommendations for a lady that wishes to have a good evening, but still be able to remmeber it in the morning?"

Cyril nods to her, "She was alright. Asked a lot of questions, but I suppose that's to be expected from a journalist, ey? She seemed a nice enough sort." He turns his head back toward her and remarks, "Well, in all honesty, it's not often that I'm out and about."

"That's what they're trained to do," Eupraxia offers with a small shrug. "There's no telling where the article may go, so they need much more than they actually use." There's a brief expression of surprise — an honest one, at that — when he explains that he's not often out. "Someone like you? Whyever not?"

Cyril chuckles and says, "Someone like me? Exactly what am I, Miss…what was it again?" He leans against the bar, sitting sideways on the stool, facing her. He seems fairly relaxed which is fairly new for the man, so it carries just a little bit of 'uneasy' with it.

Picking up on body language is one of those things a reporter is trained in. Or at least learns how to pick up over time. Eupraxia studies Cyril for a moment and opts to mirror some of his gestures. Letting him lead, as it were. Like ti was a dance. She turns in her seat slightly, letting elbow rest upon the bar's surface. "Lisette Fisher," she provides again, tilting her head slightly as she does. "Well, you're rather attractive for one. A fact I'm sure you're aware of… how could you not be?" She tuts softly, "Usually someone with your looks is seeking out company at the bars on a regular basis."

"Of course I know I'm attractive. I have a mirror, after all." He smirks and runs a hand back through his hair, "I used to, actually. Though, I think I've finally settled down. I guess I decided that enough wild oats had been sown."

Now that's interesting. Eupraxia's eyebrow rises and she shifts, leaning more on that elbow and now allowing gloved palm to cup her chin. "Settled down? And might I inquire what sort of lady has captured the likes of a man such as yourself?"

Cyril shrugs and says, "I wish I knew, Miss…what was it again?" He quirks his lip and shakes his head, "I do apologize. I guess I'm just bad with names. Must have hit my head one too many times or something."

"Just call me Lis," Eupraxia offers this time, reaching out with her other hand to pat his arm. If he seems acceptable to such a thing. She watches the man a moment, "So you've settled down, but you don't know who she is?"

Cyril looks down at the hand for a moment, but decides not to comment on it. It's nice and comforting, so why smack it away? He nods and says, "Pretty much, yeah. I guess I'm just waiting for her to plop down in my lap."

This is throwing Eupraxia for a loop and she doesn't like to be the unsettled one. Hand returns and settles neatly in her lap. Feathers have been rustled, but she does her best to dissemble and keep it from being too obvious. "Do you know what she looks like?"

Another shrug is given and he says, "No idea. Don't know if I've met her yet or if she's still waiting to pop up." He scratches his chin again and says, "Y'know…you ask a lot of…" His eyes narrow and he stares at her a bit.

"Why not go looking for her?" Eupraxia blinks a few times as he makes a closer inspection. She looks away, as if examining the drinks again or seeking out Carmichael to make an order. "Natural curiousity. You are very attractive and if I can learn more about what makes such a man work… well, perhaps I'll have luck settling down myself."

Cyril smiles and says, "Well, thank you. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner one evening and we could delve into the investigation a little further. That is, of course, if you find that to be an acceptable course of action."

Oh bloody hell… Eupraxia had somewhat worried of this. Had, but hadn't fully thought it through. Her features do cycle through a few things. Interest. Concern. Uncertainty. She finally draws in a long breath and offers: "I think that would be lovely."

Cyril nods to her and says, "I thought so. Well, I really must be going, Miss…what was it again? Fisher? Yes, that's right." He stands up and straightens out his coat, offering her a soft smile.

A few things fall into place and Eupraxia frowns. Once he stands, she sits up and reaches out to place a hand on his arm. Lips twitch downwards slightly. Voice is pitched low, directed only to him: "You were right before," she says in a quiet voice. "Lisette Fisher is just a name I use when I'm trying to go about by myself without being noticed. If you're still interested, I would really like to go to dinner, but you'd not find any way to get in touch with me using that name." She's not a -total- scumbag. Just… not very sensical much of the time.

Cyril tilts his head to her and ponders for a moment. "Deception, ey? I like it. It's very much like me in my early twenties." He clears his throat and says, "So, tell me, what /is/ your name?"

Well that went much better than expected. So much so, that Eupraxia is left without defense for a moment. Something very true and real shows in her blue eyes for a moment and she stands. This is so that she can lean in to respond to Cyril, bringing dark lips by his ear. Can't let her cover be blown to the whole place. "Eupraxia Pyrites."

Cyril coughs a bit as the truth is revealed, pulling his face back a little bit, though still hovering close to hers. Golden eyes study her features once more and a wry smile twists onto his lips. "Well, Miss Fisher…" He flashes her a wink, "…consider my interest thoroughly piqued. I shall have to send the car around to collect you at some point."

"I do live in Hogsmeade, Mr. Malfoy," Eupraxia notes as she leans back to a more relaxed position. "I'm afraid a car won't quite suit. Should we perhaps have a discourse via owl and figure out our schedules? I would be more than happy to meet at a pre-determined location."

Cyril furrows his brow, "Must be freezing. And I doubt Barney would like very much the thought of carrying you on his back, so yes it would seem that sending the driver after you would be quite an ordeal. I have a place in mind, though. Dolce Vita at six o'clock on Thursday?"

From somewhere — oh magic — on her person, Eupraxia produces a small date book. She flips open to January and checks the following Thursday. "Looks like I am available," she decides and closes the book, tucking it away. "Six o'clock it is."

Cyril nods to her and says, "Very good. Though, it's a Muggle place, so…dress accordingly." He straightens out his coat once more before he buttons it up and looks toward the door.

Which very likely means Eupraxia will show up looking much the same. Her favored over-the-top outfits don't often go over well with the Muggles. The woman dips her head in a nod. "I look forward to it." She leaves him to depart and retakes her seat at the bar, ready to place an order.

Cyril smiles, "As do I. Do enjoy your evening." He bows his head to her and makes his way to the door, off to do nefarious things, as is his MO.

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