[Millitimed to the day after Black Sunday:
The war drums are getting louder
and soon the whole world
will resound to the beat of that timpani.]

A waitrat passes by, leaves it's letter on the bar and departs again. Simple as that.

( Viktor Krum )

At some point during the day, a black and grey owl flies in through the door, and lands on the bar. Apparently it knows what it's doing, because it shakes and a letter falls off.

It's addressed to ( Thea Harman. )

He was often in her thoughts. Talking to Rabastan; finding out even more about the dark Lord Voldemort had only increased the amount Thea fretted. It was this which mostly produced the letter Thea placed on the bartop.

( Dearest Viktor )

Thea lifted the ingredients from the bartop; Black candles, fennel, pine needles, a single flat stone and a very sharp dagger. It was time. She had been holding on too long, waiting for another solution to present itself. She loved the warm tingling green glow that could spread forth from her fingers, how she could heal helpless injured animals. ( Read more... )

[OOM: There is another attack.]

Viktor Krum is by the fireplace, eyes half-closed, hands folded across his stomach.

Looking at him, one might describe him as 'patient', though one would be hard-pressed to describe exactly what he is waiting for.

Viktor is in a booth near the back, reading.

He's not in the shadows. There's plenty of light to read by. He's just there, where it's quiet.

Hermione inna bar.

Book and chicken salad.

Probably oblivious to everything, poor girl.

Fleur's tongue is sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tries to hand roll a cigarette with a local tobacco blend. Because she likes to experiment. That and Egyptians like hookah too much and never like to share with a woman. She needs a proper social smoke ( Read more... )