(1939-01-23) Overly Familiar Folk
Details for Overly Familiar Folk
Summary: In her quest to learn more about the mysterious and shady man she has seen in the Caudlron, Phil goes undercover and becomes familiar with his apprentice Tyree Abbott. Tyree is NPC'd by Myst (Tiberius).
Date: 23 January 1939
Location: A dive bar near Diagon Alley
Related:
Characters
Phil

Years building up her rolodex of false identities has ensured that Phil has a varied and interesting wardrobe to select from while planning to lure in Tyree Abbott. Her hair is covered by a short blonde wig cut in a fashionable bob, a smattering of freckles are added to her nose and some extra padding is added on top to alter her figure. Over this differently shaped but still youthful body she puts on a snug fitting dress. Cheap tacky earrings are added and her nails are cut and torn with her teeth to give her hands a less genteel look. A worn woolen coat and pair of low-heeled shoes before she takes a potion which for a few hours will alter her eye colour to brown. Then it is off to wait in the dingy dive for Tyree Abbott to arrive. It was easier to learn about him than his older and more experienced friend. A glass of neat gin sits in front of Phil as she herself sits at the bar, garnering a few interested looks but too too many as this is her third night in a row there.

Tyree finally enters the dive - It's a bar he frequents, but his assignments lately have been taking him out and about, researching for his Master. The Apprentice is a young man of nearly six feet, with mid-length hair that's wild and greasy. A cute face is marred by a crop of freckles, and some acne scarring from his earlier youth. He doesn't go straight to the bar, either - Pausing to speak to a man near the door in hushed tones, some coin changes hands, and then the young Thief makes his way to the bar, and orders a large mug of ale. Once it's slid across, he leans back against the bar, and sips, looking over them. Thieves, beggers, and those who should know better. As good a home as one like him's like to find.

Having adopted the moniker Maggie, Phil turns to make note of Tyree. She watches him openly and with interest then gives him a grin and slowly drags her gaze away. From inside her work coat she takes out a packet of cigarettes and some matches only to mutter, "Damn," when realising she has used up the last match. "Hey there darlin' have you got a light?" She sends the question Tyree's way along with another grin.

Tyree allows himself to preen a little bit when he notices Maggie watching him, shoulders back a little, confident mouthful of ale. Take him time. Play it cool. Not often there's a girl worth looking at's got time for him. When she speaks, he's remarkably languid. For Tyree, anyways. "Anyone'd think that you'd be lookin' t'speak wit' me, goin' on like there's no wand ridin' your hip, Miss." He slides a hand into his pocket, but rather than his wand, it's a conventional lighter. "Don't suppose there's one as can be spared for them's helped you out?" A flick, and flame, which is held up and waiting.

Her red painted lips curl into an easy smile, "Maybe I were finkin' you were a better off sittin' here wif me." She ducks her head into the flame and breathes in through the unfiltered Muggle cigarette while simultaneously sliding the pack across the small expanse of bar left between them. Raising her head again she smiles winsomely, "I'm Maggie." And Maggie's glottlestop East End accent is horrendously thick, which consequently makes her sound that way too.

"Might be as so." Tyree takes a moment to think, liberating a cigarette and lighting it himself, "Thinkin' of pleasurable company of an evenin' anyways." Drawing deeply, "Maggie, s'right? 'Member we had a girl's called Maggie back at th'old home growin' up, used to not never get us to all kinds of trouble wit' Mother Superior." An orphan, too, by the looks of things. No wonder he'd be so easily groomed. He wanders the short distance, and slowly takes a seat beside her. His glance over her isn't too subtle, either.

Maggie crosses her legs as she spins on the bar stool, crossing them towards Tyree in a timeless move that is done to draw attention. Her stockings are cheap quality but her legs are nice. "Did ya? Aww fat's sweet. Maybe Maggie's wot fey calls me. Maybe you'll get to see why." Her wide brown eyes make note of the look he gives her. "Wot's yer name then?" She takes another drag off her cigrette and shapping her painted mouth into a circle exhales a smoke ring before giggling that sort of inane giggle that dim-witted women think is sexy.

Mn. Nice legs indeed. Tyree chuckles softly, "Would b'that I might," Her murmurs, revealing that he seems to quite like what he sees. "S'Tyree, Miss Maggie." He's trying to juggle cigarette and ale, so he's alternating between the two - No smoke rings yet, although he does admire the shape of her lips when she blows one. "So what's a cute girl doin' down here this time of day somehow awant f'company?" Her asks,

Maggie seems to have no trouble smoking and drinking at the same time, only her poison is gin. A common enough drink amongst the working class. "I was 'opin' to make a friend like to 'elp me pass the toime." Her shoulders roll forwards briefly revealing a hint of cleavage as she leans over to flick ash off the end of her cigarette. "I were workin' in a shop down Totten'am Court Road only it's closed up on 'ccount of 'imself the gov bein' a roig't toig't bastard and dyin' wif no family."

Friend. Cleavage. Yes. Tyree's eyes glance exactly where they're bid, before he takes a long, satisfying drag and exhale. "S'a shitty situation t'find yisself in." He answers honestly, sipping his ale, "Gotta say though, you're hotter'n most nversions of hell I've bin accustomed to. Think the Dragon's hirin' people, if'n you're interested." His drink is put down, and he shrugs, drawing upon his cigarette. "Consider y'self having found a friend, Maggie. Whether'r not you've got something to show me." A smirk.

"Are fey?" Maggie perks a little at the news. Behind the buxom blonde facade the quick reporter's mind whirls while Maggie just smiles vacantly at Tyree. "I do loike 'avin' new friends. I 'specially loike i' if me knew friends are," her hand with its chewed and uneven nails drops to his knee, "are big men." Pulling her hand back she lifts her glass from the bar and sips from it. "Are you a big man, Tyree?" She positively coos his name, drawing out the vowel sound.

"'Pends 'pon your definin' of big men, Miss Maggie;" To his credit, Tyree doesn't blush when a hand falls upon his black slacks, although there's a pause and a brief amount of amusement. "You'd a measure of my height when y'first laid eyes 'pon me, so s'either presence, morality, or 'nother kind of size's all men'll lie about." A chuckle follows, "S'enough to say th'I'm a growin' man, and you're like to inspire further growth if'n you're not more careful." She's stole his attention and put him at ease with a casual ease that would upset his Master, but he couldn't be further from his mind right now.

Throwing her head back, Maggie laughs revealing her long slender throat. She levels her gaze on Tyree and lean in towards him lowering her voice with a whisper, "I loike to know if me friends can 'elp me get nice 'ings from 'ime to 'ime fen I got the coin. An' iffen fey can, well fen Maybe Maggie's got a lil somefink for them."

Tyree chuckles softly, "Well that 'pends heavily 'pon you, Miss Maggie. See, I've got somethin' that'd site nice and pretty on that neck've yours, but s'not necessarily been fairly acquired, so's never so much t'pay for a little bit'o shine. Heck, even if you've eyes for a certain piece, might be I'll be convinced." A lesson from his Master comes to the fore - Bridging what's left of the gap between them, his dexterit fingers slowly, gently stroke along her neckline. "Sommat gold'd look right stunnin' here." His cigarette is gently crushed out.

She shivers as if savouring the touch, though it's more one of revulsion and smiles her megawatt smile at Tyree. "Well you sound a 'ole lo' be'er fan me las' friend." Leaning back Maggie draws on her cigarette again and says, "More cleverer 'oo." Her accent really is appalling. "Wot you say iffen I saw a lady wif a real pre'y bi' of gold." Her other hand rises up to curl into the greasy hair at the back of his neck. "'er works a' a book s'ore. You ge' me fat pre'y bi' and I ge' you somefink swee'."

Unfortunately, Tyree can't tell the difference betwen a smile of revulsion and a smile of pleasure. At least, not yet. "I can be. 's f'your deal, I'll see if there's a way to get 'em off her and fit 'em t'ya pretty self." His hand slides to the back of her neck. "'Course, s'only fair I make sure's payment t'be made. Got a deposit, Miss Maggie; For a hard day's work?" The cigarette is stubbed our, so the hand that held it alights upon Maggie's cheap stocking, stroking lightly.

As she leans forward, Maggie is careful to ensure her head is between him at the bar so that the little potion vial she takes from her bag and dumps into his drink goes unnoticed. Of course it is easy as she is whispering hotly against his ear, "I mig' 'ave a lil somefink fer a big man loike you 'yree." Her gaze flits briefly to the glass as she swirls the tasteless potion around then leans back and winks at him.

"Can't wait t'see what that is, Miss Maggie." Tyree snickers softly. Oh, she's gonna be fun. "Sounds like we might be havin' ourselves somethin' of an accord." His hand slowly travels up her thigh, although there's not much it could do here, in semi-public. His other hand is still around her neck, too, "Anythin' personal against this witch, Miss Maggie? In case y'were after more'n the shine she's got?" A snicker. It's a romantic offer. Kind of.

Maggie giggles and picks up her drink, holding the glass in her hand. "Oooh yer a swee' one you are 'Yree." She lifts up his glass and holds it out to him. "I ain' go' nofink on 'er, I jus' loike 'er bauble." Licking her lips she eyes him as she bats her lashes, "Drink up afore I give yer a lil' somefink to inspire ya."

Tyree chuckles, taking his glass and the hand from her neck and draining it in one. "I'll see if'n it's possible to get you it. Although inspiration's like to make me a very determined big, bad man." He can't taste the potion, but it'll probably start taking affect soon. "S'alright. I deny pretty women nothin'." Especially when he's gently stroking along their thighs, waiting to see what happens next.

Maggie knocks back the remainder of her gin like a pro, that isn't faked. Phil does like to drink. She takes a final drag off her cigarette and stubs it out then slides off the barstool and with a laugh wobbles into him. "Ooo dearie me, I may 'ave 'ad a bi' much. C'mon, I go's me a place 'round 'ere." Picking up her handbag she gives him a coy look and saunters for the door.

Tyree takes the wobble gently - And true to his nature, uses is as a nice chance to feel her backside. When he slides off the stool, he's suprised to find himself fairly knackered, his own stance unsteady. One beer? Holy shit. And with that, he sways off with her, smirking. He knows where this is going.
Or does he?

Maggie slips her arm through Tyree's and leads him towards an unsavoury house of ill-repute, not your classy upscale sort of place but the kind where a landlady looks the other way for a few more sickles each week. The room is filthy but will do for the duration of the investigation she is undertaking. The potion is fast working, but not usually quite this fast. She has to help him a lot more than she expected. Then it's up onto the bed with the nearly slumbering Tyree.

….

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