Severus has been having a rather trying day, most of it spent in his room--more potions lab than apartment--trying to get a certain experiment to work, with little success.
He's come down to the bar with his lab notes, going through every line for where the error might lie that keeps foiling his attempts.
In his irritation, however, he knocks his coffee cup over as he reaches for it, sending a wave of coffee toward a stack of notes. His attempt to levitate the papers before the coffee can reach them with a severe flick of his wand sends them flying onto the floor and, perhaps, onto a nearby table.
Muttering oaths under his breath, Snape stoops to pick up his notes while sending an irritated "scourgify!" over his shoulder at the growing pool of coffee.
She's not wrong on that first count, but he's not in the mood to admit it at the moment. Instead he fixes her with a level stare for a moment, then scoops up the last paper from the floor.
"I am hardly about to be intimidated by a rodent."
He prefers to avoid the waitrats after all; they remind him too much of Pettigrew.
There is a young and very pale man who comes into the bar soaking wet from someplace it's obviously raining, dropping his bag on the floor by the first table he sees.
He pushes his milk-white hair out of his face before looking around and blinking a bit; this is not where he excepted to be.
He actually isn't magical at all, not even in the tiniest amount, but he still looks almost pitiful all wet and ghostly pale. Silas just shivers once in the cool circulating air of the bar and looks at her through pale violet eyes, not sure of what precisely this place is supposed to be, since it isn't the hallway he thought he ducked into.
A god of death is re-reading the Hobbit by the fire-place. His copy is battered and dog-eared, clearly having gotten caught in the rain more than a few times and possibly chewed on by small children.
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He's come down to the bar with his lab notes, going through every line for where the error might lie that keeps foiling his attempts.
In his irritation, however, he knocks his coffee cup over as he reaches for it, sending a wave of coffee toward a stack of notes. His attempt to levitate the papers before the coffee can reach them with a severe flick of his wand sends them flying onto the floor and, perhaps, onto a nearby table.
Muttering oaths under his breath, Snape stoops to pick up his notes while sending an irritated "scourgify!" over his shoulder at the growing pool of coffee.
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"You should watch where you're tossing spells, I think you scared a wait rat. You don't want to get on their bad side."
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"I am hardly about to be intimidated by a rodent."
He prefers to avoid the waitrats after all; they remind him too much of Pettigrew.
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"No, I'm sure you'd scare down a dragon given the chance. The spell also almost hit me."
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He pushes his milk-white hair out of his face before looking around and blinking a bit; this is not where he excepted to be.
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"You'll get drier faster by the fireplace."
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"...Thank you."
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He looks like he needs feeding and she searches for a wait rat and orders cocoa, towels and soup.
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"That book is taking over Wellywood."
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