RP: The daily grind
Characters: Draco Malfoy, open
Location: Slug and Jiggers Apothecary
Date: 23 March 2000
Status: Public
Summary: Draco's at work and none too pleased by that.
Completion: Complete.
Spring, and a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Or, in the case of the half-dozen spotted youths who'd already wandered through the apothecary, turns to thoughts of getting a bird's knickers off and to the potions that might help accomplish that. Draco had just shouted another one out the door, with the added bonus of "I am writing to McGonagall and telling her you're skiving class, you little bastard!" to hurry the kid on his way. Apparently rumors abounded that Malfoy worked at the apothecary, and since Malfoy was a Dark wizard, he obviously wouldn't have any qualms about love potions, 'encouragement' potions, or outright "Look, I need to shag this girl, she's got tits till next century, give us a hand" potions.
Draco had plenty of qualms. He supposed it was a bit odd that someone who had no moral objection to murder (I-can't-do-this objections, certainly, and plenty of getting-caught-and-sent-to-Azkaban objections, but not necessarily a problem with someone else doing the work) had moral objections to seducing a woman, but he'd always had issues with that. Ladies choice, a woman's prerogative, and if a bloke wasn't good enough to snag a girl on his own merits, well then.... Then it just blew bollocks to be him and too bad. Draco wasn't going to help. He put work into getting his own girl. Everyone else could do the same.
Draco slumped onto a stool behind the counter and reheated his coffee with a snippish flick of his wand. Other than the small horde of idiots, the only customer he'd had that day had been a little old witch who'd wanted a potion to perk up the cat she was carrying in a wicker basket. "His fur's all stiff, dearie. Stiff and not good for petting, that's not very nice for Muggins." Clearly the woman's eyesight wasn't what it used to be - seven centuries ago - and Draco hadn't the heart to tell her that her cat was a hedgehog. He sent her off with instructions to come back at closing time and he'd have something for her then. Possibly an excuse, but if he got bored enough, he might actually try to work on some kind of softening solution. It was an interesting challenge. Very little else was.
Location: Slug and Jiggers Apothecary
Date: 23 March 2000
Status: Public
Summary: Draco's at work and none too pleased by that.
Completion: Complete.
Spring, and a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Or, in the case of the half-dozen spotted youths who'd already wandered through the apothecary, turns to thoughts of getting a bird's knickers off and to the potions that might help accomplish that. Draco had just shouted another one out the door, with the added bonus of "I am writing to McGonagall and telling her you're skiving class, you little bastard!" to hurry the kid on his way. Apparently rumors abounded that Malfoy worked at the apothecary, and since Malfoy was a Dark wizard, he obviously wouldn't have any qualms about love potions, 'encouragement' potions, or outright "Look, I need to shag this girl, she's got tits till next century, give us a hand" potions.
Draco had plenty of qualms. He supposed it was a bit odd that someone who had no moral objection to murder (I-can't-do-this objections, certainly, and plenty of getting-caught-and-sent-to-Azkaban objections, but not necessarily a problem with someone else doing the work) had moral objections to seducing a woman, but he'd always had issues with that. Ladies choice, a woman's prerogative, and if a bloke wasn't good enough to snag a girl on his own merits, well then.... Then it just blew bollocks to be him and too bad. Draco wasn't going to help. He put work into getting his own girl. Everyone else could do the same.
Draco slumped onto a stool behind the counter and reheated his coffee with a snippish flick of his wand. Other than the small horde of idiots, the only customer he'd had that day had been a little old witch who'd wanted a potion to perk up the cat she was carrying in a wicker basket. "His fur's all stiff, dearie. Stiff and not good for petting, that's not very nice for Muggins." Clearly the woman's eyesight wasn't what it used to be - seven centuries ago - and Draco hadn't the heart to tell her that her cat was a hedgehog. He sent her off with instructions to come back at closing time and he'd have something for her then. Possibly an excuse, but if he got bored enough, he might actually try to work on some kind of softening solution. It was an interesting challenge. Very little else was.