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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 0:57:33 GMT -5
Tom enters the crooked shack, feeling the dark magic around it, enjoying every bit of it, green eyes flashing behind his round glasses. He wonders, puzzled, when, exactly, this shop became and who exactly, the owner was. He browsed the shelves, bemused at it all.
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 1:04:47 GMT -5
|Penn's Books and Artefacts was a comparatively small shop. Borgin and Burkes, based out of London, remained, as always, the largest Dark Arts emporium around. But smaller shops tended to have things that larger ones didn't. Penn's not only had some of the rarest compendiums regarding restricted potions and charms, but it also boasted a considerable collection of cursed artifacts. Rings that had been cursed for centuries, mirrors that would suck you in and never let you out (these were carefully covered, of course), and belts that cinched so tight they would cut you in half. And at the back, a dusty counter, covered with, of all things, animal pelts. Invisible thestral fur, werewolf pelts, and some shimmery scales that looked as if they had once graced the hide of a basilisk. Nestled in the warm cocoon of the werewolf hide was a tiny green snake, no longer than one's hand. It looked up as the boy entered the shop, flicking its tongue out.|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 1:06:51 GMT -5
Tom glances breifly at this snake before admiring the dark items. He enjoied looking at the werewolf pelt. Nothing would please him more than to have the pelt of the wolf roaming the school. He waited, still, for the shopkeeper.
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 1:13:52 GMT -5
|The snake reared up, bright orange eyes unblinking. ~A Speaking-Man? Fair fortune that brings you, Speaking-Man. You're kind are rare.~ The snake's voice was light, lilting. Decidedly female. She swayed, back and forth. ~My nest-father beds down beyond this high-top. Do you wish to give-and-take?~ Parseltongue was unlike English, in that snake's had no words for things like 'owner' or 'buy' or 'counter.' But she improvised.|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 1:18:20 GMT -5
Tom smiled, uncharacteristically at the snake. ~No, my friend. I would like to meet your nest-father, though.~ He still browses at the animal skins and such
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 1:25:45 GMT -5
|She executed a perfect, snakey little bow, then casually slithered down an ornamental carving of a griffin that graced the side of the counter. It was quite obviously there just for her. She disappeared beneath a door tucked away behind and to the right of the counter. A few minutes later, there was a loud 'thunk' sound, and a wisp of purple fumes trickled out from beneath the door. Several more minutes later, the door opened, banging against the wall, and a tall figure in black robes swept out of the purple mushroom-cloud that had formed in the room beyond. He (for it was a young man, most certainly) wore a pair of goggles most often used by Potions Masters when brewing potions that gave off smoke or mist. He did not remove them, even after he had settled himself at the counter and deposited the snake back on the werewolf pelt. She promptly moved over to the thestral hide. "Welcome to Penn's Books and Artefacts, I'm Penn Uther, how may I help you?" All of this said in one long, drawling speech. Impressive.|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 1:31:08 GMT -5
"Stole the name of King Arthur's sire, i see. Any particular reason?" he doesnt look away from the werewolf pelts. Thourough inspection (i will never be able to spell that word >.<)
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 1:42:40 GMT -5
|The man's thin lips twisted into an ugly smirk. "More reason than you shall ever know." He leaned over the counter, peering at the werewolf pelt. "Magnificent creature. Ravaged half of York before she was caught. Found her a few months ago. She still retains the essence of what she once was. Perfect for charms work, especially spells of animation." Up close, you could see that the young man's dark brown hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. It was longish, down to between his shoulder blades, and it was slightly lank. Likely due to his work with potions. "You sent Grippa to fetch me, yes? What do you want?"|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 1:47:03 GMT -5
"just... an idea..." He smiles at the werewolf pelt again. "So you brought an end to such a marvelous creature?"
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 1:56:22 GMT -5
|He peered at the boy. Probably the same age as himself. Looked slightly familiar. Must be from the school. Huh. "Of course not. She was put down by aurors. Ghastly people, truly, but I was not about to miss an opportunity." He grabbed the sides of his goggles, raising them up so that they sat upon the top of his head. He had different colored eyes. One brown, with light grey at the edges of the iris, and one blue. "Would you like the grand tour, sir? I assure you, there's a tale for every one of these items."|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 1:59:39 GMT -5
OMG, i love your avatar. Tom nods, awarding another rare smile. "That would be nice."
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 2:05:05 GMT -5
((Thank you. XD)) |He nodded, then removed his goggles completely, setting them on the countertop. "Come along, then." He was, most definitely, a young man, no more than seventeen, but clearly confidant of his power. He moved with a subtle grace that his height (a respectable 6'1") belied. Grippa, not to be left behind, crawled down off the counter and then up her owner's leg, settling in a contented lump somewhere around his left thigh. Penn paid no attention to her; he was busy telling the story of the harp that sat so appealingly in one corner, and how it had been cursed by Elizabeth Bathory herself, that anyone who played it would never be able to stop, and they would pray for death, even before the constant plucking reduced their fingers to bloody bones. Quite interesting, really. There was a mellifluous quality to his voice that spoke of excellent breeding. The sound of it was almost...familiar.|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 2:07:58 GMT -5
Tom stared intently. "Have i met you before?"
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Post by Pathos on Aug 19, 2006 2:17:02 GMT -5
|He paused in his story, peering at the student. "I...I don't know. I feel as if we have, but I...I'm not sure. May I ask your name?" Beneath his robes, Grippa rustled, and whispered. ~Speaking-Men know my nest-father well.~|
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Post by Daniel on Aug 19, 2006 2:17:58 GMT -5
He frowned. "Marshall."
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