What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
WHO: Severus Snape [Solo]
WHERE: A brownstone. His brownstone.
WHEN: Today.
WARNINGS: N/A
SUMMARY: Snape attains something he's been working at since he arrived in the City.
FORMAT: Solo Prose log.
It had been a good neighborhood once, the agent had explained. It had entered something of a decline - he explained the fire damage that had gutted the two brownstones adjoined to his as related to some sort of illegal drug lab squatting in the unoccupied buildings - and then, gentrification was beginning as the bohos and young families were looking to find a place to live the dream, create themselves anew. It was mostly a wash to move a long-empty property, but Snape knew that at least part of it was true.
More importantly, it would suit his needs perfectly. An end of row unit, four levels plus a basement for the necessary mechanical for the elevator. The first two would be dedicated to the apothecary, he knew that immediately, and the downstairs would be excellent cool storage for reagents - as well as well-warded vault he was designing. It'd never match Goblin work, but he dared anyone in the City to find him something that would.
His agent was irritated by all the in-person meetings, regularly complained that Snape had no fax machine, but ask the older wizard if he gave a damn: he most certainly did not! The agent would get his piece for his frustration, and in the end, Snape would have what he wanted.
The buildings next to his - once repaired and sold - would become condos for upper middle-class families with children. There were businesses of all sorts planned, as the economy attempted a sluggish recovery. A all-natural, organic grocer nearby, a small record shop specializing in vintage vinyl - all very trendy. Snape didn't give a damn. He'd carve his niche here as something singular, that no one could attain anywhere else in this bloody magicless planet.
He signed the papers one day, waited for the loan to process, signed a bloody number more. Callie hadn't lied; she'd given her promise and the DOI was there when he needed it.
When they passed him the keys, shook hand, and parted ways, Snape felt exultant; it was his. Not a damned other wizard or witch from his world had even set foot in the place. No assistance or interference from the Order. Nothing but his own mind and hands had brought him this far, his hard work for the charity ball putting him in the right place.
A Slytherin success if there ever was one.
He took to the steps, walked into what would become his new home in the City, and shut the door, leaving the chill October winds to snap at someone else's heels.
WHERE: A brownstone. His brownstone.
WHEN: Today.
WARNINGS: N/A
SUMMARY: Snape attains something he's been working at since he arrived in the City.
FORMAT: Solo Prose log.
It had been a good neighborhood once, the agent had explained. It had entered something of a decline - he explained the fire damage that had gutted the two brownstones adjoined to his as related to some sort of illegal drug lab squatting in the unoccupied buildings - and then, gentrification was beginning as the bohos and young families were looking to find a place to live the dream, create themselves anew. It was mostly a wash to move a long-empty property, but Snape knew that at least part of it was true.
More importantly, it would suit his needs perfectly. An end of row unit, four levels plus a basement for the necessary mechanical for the elevator. The first two would be dedicated to the apothecary, he knew that immediately, and the downstairs would be excellent cool storage for reagents - as well as well-warded vault he was designing. It'd never match Goblin work, but he dared anyone in the City to find him something that would.
His agent was irritated by all the in-person meetings, regularly complained that Snape had no fax machine, but ask the older wizard if he gave a damn: he most certainly did not! The agent would get his piece for his frustration, and in the end, Snape would have what he wanted.
The buildings next to his - once repaired and sold - would become condos for upper middle-class families with children. There were businesses of all sorts planned, as the economy attempted a sluggish recovery. A all-natural, organic grocer nearby, a small record shop specializing in vintage vinyl - all very trendy. Snape didn't give a damn. He'd carve his niche here as something singular, that no one could attain anywhere else in this bloody magicless planet.
He signed the papers one day, waited for the loan to process, signed a bloody number more. Callie hadn't lied; she'd given her promise and the DOI was there when he needed it.
When they passed him the keys, shook hand, and parted ways, Snape felt exultant; it was his. Not a damned other wizard or witch from his world had even set foot in the place. No assistance or interference from the Order. Nothing but his own mind and hands had brought him this far, his hard work for the charity ball putting him in the right place.
A Slytherin success if there ever was one.
He took to the steps, walked into what would become his new home in the City, and shut the door, leaving the chill October winds to snap at someone else's heels.