(1938-11-16) To Fly Again
Details for To Fly Again
Summary: Atalanta returns to Flights of Fancy to look into a new broom. Laurence tries to encourage her desire to fly again.
Date: 16 November, 1938
Location: Flights of Fancy Broomshop, Diagon Alley
Related: Of Queens and Goddesses

As the evening sun kisses the horizon, the front door of Flights of Fancy swings open to the arrival of a flaxen-haired witch. Bailey looks quite a bit different from the last time she graced the broom shop. Gone is the tight, professional bun, letting her hair flow freely down to the middle of her back. Her robes are more casual than the grey-toned functional things she wore while bodyguarding Rhyeline Diderot, really more of a simple cloak over a flattering blouse and slacks. Her primarily concession to utility is her preference for thick-soled boots rather than a more feminine shoe.

She slows her steps to really take in the appearance of the shop this time, rather than assessing potential security issues. As her eyes drift over the masterfully crafted broomsticks, a distant, sad smile forms on her lips.

The door opening sets that arrival charm a going, a soft cooing like a dove and it causes one Mister Toulson to peek out from behind a display case he was repairing. He wears comfortable clothing, short sleeved top, light grey trousers and boots…hair dusty and a screwdriver in one hand with a turtledove on his shoulder. There's a pause before he straightens up. "Ah, welcome to Flights of Fancy, where your flying fancies become reality." A pause. "…Miss Atalanta…is everything alright?"

Bailey blinks in surprise when Laurence pops up from behind the display case, her smile turning a little bashful. "Oh, Mr. Toulson. Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I was just admiring your craftsmanship. Are all of these your own work?" As she passes the space between two broom displays, she pauses for a moment in front of one of the Quidditch posters.

Laurence idly twirls the screwdriver as he quirks an eyebrow and just has to smile softly, bending over to tuck the screwdriver back into his box and using a rag to wipe his hands as he nods slowly. "Admire away, my goddess, admire away. And aye…they are my own work, the ones on display. Sometimes I retouch and recycle older brooms for families who can't afford new ones, take donations all the time but they are in the back. Have to strip the charms and paint, do some resanding using and if I could sound duller I would try…" He winks and shakes his head, glancing towards the posters before squinting a bit at Bailey and tilting his head. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Bailey snorts softly at being called a goddess, shaking her head. "No, no, you don't sound dull at all. Broomcraft has always been sort of fascinating to me." She strolls over toward Laurence, tilting her head sharply, almost birdlike. "It seems every shop around here is also a cafe," she chuckles. "No, thank you. Actually…I was considering investing in a new broom. It only seemed right that I come to you first."

"Mm, perhaps. I just like people to be comfortable when they are in here." Laurence waves a hand vaguely and whistles softly to the bird on his shoulder, the tiny creature fluttering off with an irritated cooing. He does look intrigued. "And what were the chances, you know…broomcraft has always been sort of fascinating to me as well." He thumbs the side of his nose with a grin before ahhing softly. "Then I am honored that you did indeed come to me first. I happen to know a few things about brooms."

"That's what I've come to understand," she says with a smirk. "I haven't been on a broom in years. I imagine they've come a long way since my flying days. I might just fall right off the moment I'm airborne." Bailey chuckles weakly, sighing at the mental image.

Laurence hmms and gestures towards the couches and tables. "Have a seat, this may take a while…so you best be comfortable." He scratches his cheek and makes his way towards the couches, rubbing his hands together. "Its been a while since you've been flying…so what's changed is simple one thing…its just been a while since you've been on a broom? Why?"

Bailey furrows her brow in confusion. What will take a while? She follows Laurence to the couches, hesitantly taking a seat. His questions bring a wary cast to her eyes. "Why is this important? I'm sure I just need practice," she says cautiously.

Laurence settles down in front of Bailey, parking his bum on the coffee table so he can face the woman and he runs his fingers through his hair. "Because the second thing you said after stating how long its been, was the possibility of falling. A broom responds to thoughts, feelings and its connection with the rider and I can compensate better…communicate to the wood how patient it may need to be as you relearn…but if trauma or shock was associated with how long its been…you can relive those memories while flying and lose connection. So. The brooms haven't changed, the art of flying hasn't changed…but you have." He waves a hand a bit, voice staying gentle. "I'm not being nosy, mind you. If you like, we can skip the question and you can just tell me your birthday. Month and day is sufficient."

Bailey finds herself stunned into silence at the depth and complexity of his taken on brooms. Despite her own great experience with brooms, she'd never looked at it like that before. "I see. Well…alright. The last time I was on a broom…there was an accident. It put me in the hospital for months, and I still suffer pain as a result. But it's fine. I take potions for the pain, and…it's fine." There is a palpable stiffness in her posture as she vaguely explains what happened to her.

Laurence's eyes never leave Bailey's face as he watches her and listens closely, head tilting and he gives a small nod, biting his bottom lip at the mention of an accident and leans forward, bending a knee to rest an elbow on it. "Its fine." He echoes softly before murmuring softly to himself in Greek and nodding. "The memory is physical as well as mental, and while you've missed it…you're glad it didn't touch your heart yet, or you wouldn't be here wanting to give it another go." He winks. "Very well, when's your birthday beautiful?"

Bailey shifts uncomfortably under Laurence's scrutiny, even with as tender and understanding as he is being. "It's…something like that. I'm…my birthday is the 20th of December. You said you don't need the year?" She peers with a skeptical eye toward this unusual broommaker. She's never been asked such things before when being fitted for a broom.

After the birthday is given, Laurence's eyebrow quirks and he blinks, lowers his head and murmuring in Greek before nodding to himself. "Elder…tempered with Beech I think. Elder wood is very sacred, it symbolizes to be complete, a time for closure and renewal…its a wood that holds protective qualities, to tamper with it or someone it is connected with is to potentially seal your own fate. In general, elder speaks to a person who's lived their lives seeing many many changes…you under stand a lot more about people and natural growth than most." Laurence trails off, eyes closing as he thinks, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. "Those who are connected with Elder, are also connected with the spirit of a Raven, which is a messenger…they persist when others may give up, they…well some are said to be able to change their appearances but most importantly they share messages and are ever watchful…very self-disciplined and well, they like their space." He pauses. "As for the Beech…"

Bailey turns her head slightly, viewing him askance. Her eyes widen a bit at the mention of those who can change their appearance. "You sound like a wandmaker now. So…what about Beech, then?" Skeptical or not, she's curious.

"Heh…Beech well, I'd be using it to temper, so that its not overwhelming…and it'll just be using it for the aspects that represent people who are well organized and heh, I always love the elements of them taking well to sun light, I won't bore you with the details but…its what would line up, best suit you. I'd also have to know where you're wounded, not exact but…upper body, lower body, hurts when you raise your arms…etc, so I make sure the grips and such are in place." Laurence smiles softly. "Wandlore, broomlore, it all goes to the same place…learning and understanding the wood and how they are connected with people."

Bailey pinches her lips as the conversation turns back to her injury. She pulls her cloak aside, placing two fingers under her right breast. "The shaft entered here," she explained in an even, clinical tone. "It shattered two ribs and went right through my lung, and exited between my right shoulder blade and the collar bone. Yes, it sometimes hurts when I raise my right arm higher than my shoulder."

Laurence's eyes go from the breast then to the area she indicates and then back to the breast and he quickly shakes his head to focus on the indicated spot and he nods slowly. "See, normally when woman says 'the shaft entered here' the aftermath is far more pleasant. I am ever so sorry that you had to go through that lovely, but no matter…I will adjust the grip, lower it a bit so there's less lean or reach…something that will allow you easy mobility yet comfort and security…"

Bailey's brow furrows in mild disbelief. "I don't want a lower grip. A lower grip means less control. If I end up using the broom on the job, I need maneuverability. You can't manage a Hummingbird Turnabout with a low grip," she says in the Quidditch player's parlance. "I can handle a little pain, and besides, it's only when I lift my arm too high…and do you always talk to women like that?" She quickly segues into her astonishment at Laurence's not-so-subtle innuendo.

Laurence gives Bailey a look and laughs lowly. "No…that is where you are wrong…you grip will be lower, your maneuverability will be fine…but length of the shaft just past the seat, will be longer, to compensate, your feet rest in the hooks on either side of the head just a few inches longer than a normal broom, you have the oh so beautifully long legs to make this possible. I have never made a broom that did not allow for maneuverability and I sorta negated when I played Quidditch the concept of something being impossible and would practice with you until you nailed it….so please do not tell me what my brooms can and cannot do my golden goddess because if I say I will make you a broom fitting a Raven to take flight, that is what I will do." A pause. "No….it depends on the woman and the setting, and here we're talking about shafts, and wounds and brooms and wood and quite honestly lovely, my mind is more on how to get you a broom that will be your perfect match and less on how to charm your pants off."

Bailey frowns, shutting her eyes and retreating into herself momentarily. There is a slight cloud that seems to come over her, even to the point that her hair seems a shade darker. She takes a few measured breaths, and the moment passes. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I'm not sure I need…I don't know what I need." She starts to rise, and betrayed a slight wince of pain when she pushes herself up with her right arm.

Laurence sighs softly and just watches Bailey for a few moments, rubbing a hand over his face. "…You need to trust me with your broom…and no more. If the fact that I find you both familiar and attractive unsettles you, I apologize but don't worry about that. You've got an important job, and you are a proper and respectable woman…I take my craft very seriously." He gets to his feet. "So trust me, right now…all I want to do, is see you fly, Miss Atalanta. The broad arrow that pierced your breast may still haunt you, but it will not keep you out of the sky…if it is the last thing I do." He gets to his feet as well, taking note of that wince and such as he bites his bottom lip. "After all…that's what I do. I make wings."

Bailey pauses, putting on a brave face and resisting the urge to put a comforting hand to where the pain lanced through her. "Familiar?" She raises an eyebrow again, but cannot help a reflexive glances toward an old Puddlemere United poster hanging on the wall. Quickly trying to divert attention away from it, she sighs loudly, looking down at the floor. "Look, it's very flattering that you find me attractive. It's just…that 'shaft' comment was a bit…lewd. Especially considering I just told you about an injury that should have killed me."

"You're alive, I celebrate life. I celebrate love, we learn from our near death experiences, but I never like to force people to dwell. You told me about an injury yes, I attempted and failed to use a bit of humor to turn attention back to the hope of the matter…that I will have you flying." Laurence shrugs a shoulder. "But I will mind my tongue in your presence, and attempt to keep it as clean as possible." He glances towards the poster and then looks back to Bailey. "And no matter how familiar you may see…you are Miss Atalanta, fearless bodyguard and my new muse for a new broom. So will you forgive me?"

Bailey pinches her lips pensively, but finally, perhaps a touch reluctantly, she nods. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm a little touchy about it. I'm…not used to talking about it. That was a dark time in my life." She remains standing, arms crossed, but she's no long on her way out.

"Aye, well. We all have those times. Heh, eventually." Laurence scratches his head before shrugging a shoulder. "If you ever want to just talk about it, swear, curse, break somethings…I have a wonderful selection of booze and most of everything in here is made of wood and can be repaired. Either way, I'm always willing to listen."

Bailey arches an eyebrow, betraying her interest at the mention of booze. "I…maybe. I'm not really the breaking things type, though." She can't help a little smirk. "Besides, I'd be afraid to damage any of your brooms. They're just…too beautiful."

"Oh trust me, I will move the good brooms out of the way first." Laurence winks and grins. "Anyways, anytime…be is pub crawlin' or whiskey flying…I'm open when it comes to socialization involving alcohol." A pause and a small smile. "And thank you…"

Bailey's smirks shifts to coyness, and she lets out a soft chuckle. "Somehow I get the feeling mixing alcohol and an evening with you could be more than I bargained for." As a light blush touches her cheeks, it even seems to give the impression of a reddish tint in her long hair.

Laurence just tries his best to look innocent, really…he does his best, but there's a twinkle in those ice blue eyes before he holds up his hands. "Hey, I promise I'd be a peeerfect gentleman." He grins and shrugs a shoulder. "But…you just might learn a few things." He offers a bow and chuckles lowly.

Bailey snorts lightly, "Oh, I'll just bet I would." When the blush intensifies, she quickly turns the subject back to broomcraft before her hair can go completely ginger. There's plenty to discuss, as she explains more about her style of flying.

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