"Ugly noises and strange ways by the tube rays" - Tricky
Date: Friday, 2 March 2000 (Backdated)
Time: Evening
Location: Soho, mainly-- Old Compton Street
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and Sidney Vaisey
Rating: PG-13 or more
As always, it starts with a climatic observation. The agonizing sun, still not quite springly, was half-beneath the horizon-- customarily painting everything deep-ruby, like that wine he had drunk a few nights ago in self-deprecating solitude. Smiling lazily, Montague stood at the porch to Arcadia, bathing in scanty sunlight, and enjoying the view of his cleanly-cut, groomed fingernails. It was time for apparating back home, but the prospect of having to entertain the ghastly Marquise de Merteuil of his humble abode was far too dehydrating to make the perfunctory visit on time. What else, what else? Cold dinner (La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid!), wine and whining House-Elves: what could be more boring than that? Lips curling even further into a cheshire grin, Montague made the first step away from the gallery and into an evening full of pernicious adventures-- or damned would be he if such were not to come true.
Muggles had, quite understandably he noticed as he walked up the street, a rather annoying predilection for lack of taste, impersonated in this case, in garish vulgarity of evening shoppes. Red and yellow and flashy green - that poisonous green kind that wizard-painters never had (thankfully!) in their ammunition - all so inelegantly juxtaposed against the architecture of old London: what an observation. A parody of a smile ghosted quietly over Montague's lips for a few minutes, as he continued on his reconnaissance travel through Muggle Soho, making mental remarks on the state of style in this world. Bohemian? Why, they lie!- he thought, striding purposefully up the pavement, marking self-conceitedly the surreptitious looks of admiration thrown his way by both genders. (Honestly, when shall they see beneath the shell?!- he would usually think, coquettishly.)
With a sharp turn to right Montague was soon on the Greek Street with its 'famous' restaurants (only nauseating in their utter Muggleness) and pretentious upper-class men and women in atrocious clothing Montague could only with great reserve call 'fashionable'. Soon, soon he would jump out of that pithole of tasteless Muggle concentration-- and into the much-sought freedom of Old Compton Street with its literary significance and hysterical homosexual boys: the Damnation Alley itself.
"A table for one outside," Montague was ordering, when next seen on the screen in extreme close-up (after a sufficient time spent advertising newest shampoo formulas, obviously). He stood, hands nonchalantly in pockets of his well-tailored black winter tunic, on the pavement belonging to Balans café-- noticing quite well how the comely garcon looked him over, as if wondering if he were gay or, disappointingly, not. Flashing a slightly feral grin, Montague nodded, "And if you hurry, I might stay here for a longer while, so you may enjoy the view, boy."- Which, of course, sent the young waiter figuratively tumbling backwards in an attempt to get away from the strange customer, and if possible, to hand him over to more experienced waiters. Montague smirked contentedly, before moving onwards and seating himself at one of the free tables.
Time: Evening
Location: Soho, mainly-- Old Compton Street
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and Sidney Vaisey
Rating: PG-13 or more
As always, it starts with a climatic observation. The agonizing sun, still not quite springly, was half-beneath the horizon-- customarily painting everything deep-ruby, like that wine he had drunk a few nights ago in self-deprecating solitude. Smiling lazily, Montague stood at the porch to Arcadia, bathing in scanty sunlight, and enjoying the view of his cleanly-cut, groomed fingernails. It was time for apparating back home, but the prospect of having to entertain the ghastly Marquise de Merteuil of his humble abode was far too dehydrating to make the perfunctory visit on time. What else, what else? Cold dinner (La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid!), wine and whining House-Elves: what could be more boring than that? Lips curling even further into a cheshire grin, Montague made the first step away from the gallery and into an evening full of pernicious adventures-- or damned would be he if such were not to come true.
Muggles had, quite understandably he noticed as he walked up the street, a rather annoying predilection for lack of taste, impersonated in this case, in garish vulgarity of evening shoppes. Red and yellow and flashy green - that poisonous green kind that wizard-painters never had (thankfully!) in their ammunition - all so inelegantly juxtaposed against the architecture of old London: what an observation. A parody of a smile ghosted quietly over Montague's lips for a few minutes, as he continued on his reconnaissance travel through Muggle Soho, making mental remarks on the state of style in this world. Bohemian? Why, they lie!- he thought, striding purposefully up the pavement, marking self-conceitedly the surreptitious looks of admiration thrown his way by both genders. (Honestly, when shall they see beneath the shell?!- he would usually think, coquettishly.)
With a sharp turn to right Montague was soon on the Greek Street with its 'famous' restaurants (only nauseating in their utter Muggleness) and pretentious upper-class men and women in atrocious clothing Montague could only with great reserve call 'fashionable'. Soon, soon he would jump out of that pithole of tasteless Muggle concentration-- and into the much-sought freedom of Old Compton Street with its literary significance and hysterical homosexual boys: the Damnation Alley itself.
"A table for one outside," Montague was ordering, when next seen on the screen in extreme close-up (after a sufficient time spent advertising newest shampoo formulas, obviously). He stood, hands nonchalantly in pockets of his well-tailored black winter tunic, on the pavement belonging to Balans café-- noticing quite well how the comely garcon looked him over, as if wondering if he were gay or, disappointingly, not. Flashing a slightly feral grin, Montague nodded, "And if you hurry, I might stay here for a longer while, so you may enjoy the view, boy."- Which, of course, sent the young waiter figuratively tumbling backwards in an attempt to get away from the strange customer, and if possible, to hand him over to more experienced waiters. Montague smirked contentedly, before moving onwards and seating himself at one of the free tables.