Great Britain, Other - June 5th-September 3rd
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St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - Azkaban - London - Etc.
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - Azkaban - London - Etc.
Jelly watched her target companion approach with the same blasé focus cats lavish on goldfish swimming clueless behind their glass. She noted the jeans, the holes, the shirt, and then, finally, the boy. The wheels in her head grinded down the information into pronounced the specimen suitable for the occasion.
She smiled.
“Come on, we’re wasting daylight,” was her decided greeting. Standing up, Jelly tugged the portly coat a bit closer and hiked a thumb at the small gate on the left of the steps. Without waiting for a response, she headed through, going towards the back of the house and down the cracked stone staircase that materialized, un-magically yet inexplicably. Two cold, armed cherubs and a pretty pool of green guarded the iron-grill door labeled "Antiques Entrance".
“Y’know,” drawled Jelly, swiping aside a random skinny spray of ornamental greenery, “I had a little bet with myself as to where you would or wouldn’t show up. Now that you have, I don’t know whether to count it as win or loss.” She paused with one hand on the door. “Ever hear of Schrödinger’s cat?”
She opened the door and ushered O’Neill through. “As the story warns, step into my parlor…”
It was not, in fact, a parlor. It was a rather imposing foyer, its dimensions grander and better than its entrance led a stranger to expect. Covered completely from floor to ceiling with custom wooden panels, it gleamed with subtle luster and shadows. Nearby by was the first of the house’s many fireplaces, surrounded by two stained glass windows.
“This is one of the few places in the house that doesn’t get brutally transformed every other season. Mostly because it’d be awkward to explain to some of the Muggles,” Jelly said. “The fireplace is a dud. Been sealed up since the Great War, I think. Some genius”-the word, surprisingly, held no sarcasm-“got a bomber stuck in the chimney flute, and the floo powder never flew right afterwards. Anyway, this is the fastest way to the basement with the lowest likely chance of running into any of the staff on duty. Not that we’ll be able to avoid running into folks once we go below…”
The flop of her own oversized sleeve distracted her. Damn. She’d forgotten she was wearing the wretched thing. Ha, goaded her sense of sarcasm. Which wretched thing would that be… She took off the coat.
Ignore the girl had been the dressmaker’s orders. She’s too stubborn to appreciate anything had been Aunt Hannelore’s justification. you’ll be sorry had been Jelly’s black promise. But in the end, after the war of a fitting, the verbal thunder over buttons and seams, a brief chase through the shoe department, two failed escapes, a nerve racked seamstress and a shaking hairdresser later…
Well. At least Jelly didn’t go down easily; she’d made them pay for each blasted, shiny sequin.
The dress robe was cigarette slim and brazenly golden, sliding over long, full trousers one shade lighter. Ditching the hat revealed a coiffure matching the costume: elegant, gilded, and decisively put together. Jelly’s usual rope of a braid was coiled and pinned, primly and prettily lifted off her neck. The resulting outcome was not a girl in a dress, but a composition, a painstakingly tailored symphony of money, style, and effect. A billboard with a pulse, in Jelly’s opinion.
“If you’re planning to bolt now’s your last chance to do it with relative grace,” said the blonde in gold with the diamond grin. “But…”
You’ll never live it down finished her smile.
[OOC: When it comes to late replies, madam, I’m well qualified to challenge your title.]
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He looked around her house and whistled softly, "Nice place." He took a moment to take it all in. It was fancy, exactly the sort of place he'd always pictured purebloods living. He didn't, however, see any suspicious looking brothers.
"I'm not going anywhere," O'Neill said, with a healthy bit of manly bravado, "so uh, where are these brothers I'm supposed to babysitting? Or is it, singular brother?"
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