The Spiny Serpent [Closed ~ Not Hiring]

[inMadness]

___________________,,-'{ Arthur Zeek Doyle Findeler III }'-,,___________________
[ Slytherin-Alumni ; Unspeakable ]

Arthur didn't flinch as Remington raised his wand; it seemed the man had come to understand exactly what had occurred. Arthur considered him a fool for leaving him alone in his shop, with access to his spirits no less. what other course of action could he take but the opening Nott had provided. He expected Remy would discover the trickery at work, but that didn't mean he had been freed of the potion's hold.

Arthur stood from the desk slowly and cautiously peering at the empty threat laid before him. His own mind, calculating just how long it would take to retrieve his wand and cast the first curse. He knew it was a long shot to try and take him on a whim; this was no western gunfight. If he reached for his wand, he'd be frozen in place, or knocked unconscious with the flick of his wand. And then it would be free reign on all the devilry the man could concoct. Fighting his way out would be the most foolish of choices. He'd have to talk his way out.

"Put your wand away, Nott. You'd have done the same if our places reversed..." He say coyly, though a chime of reassurance resonated in the words. "...I am, of course, here unofficially. We're only talking, and by now you realize I've no quarrel with you. Like I said, the ministry has bigger problems than you or your exploits with Krina."

He paused, as he slowly made around the desk, easing his hand into his cloak, making no effort in hiding as he cautiously retrieved his wand, and held it firmly in his hand before squaring off with Nott in front of the desk; If Remington would take this to blows, than he would do so with pragmatic honor and civility; If he wanted to settle this with violence it would be done on equal terms. He raised his arm, wand in hand, aiming it back at Remy to mirror his threat and prepare for the impromptu duel should it come to that.
"I've one last question...." He said, peering through Nott's rage, ready to reflect Nott's curse should his last inquiry reach the end of his tonic's effects on the man. "You've a nephew, just as I a son; his future is at cusps of this evil, not ours. What have you invested in the dark lord's rise, that you would stand in my way now, in protecting that future?"  

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

Trapped, Remington cracked at the foundation under the fury of the drums of war, his own heartbeat quickening with rapid succession if only to drown him in a sea of blood. He had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, not that the thought of flight had ever truly been engaged, but if to sacrifice himself the humility of being best just one more time, he had little other choices. He would find no sanctuary within his own skills, not anymore, he had never had the potioneer’s patience or wonder, and he could think of none other than Alfons Flint with a remedy to this wretched concoction he had downed without a second thought, without doubt. So? He was damned, and he knew it. Running to Alfons would not only sacrifice his shred of pride but it would it diminish any chance of withholding the upper hand, the art of thievery had never been quite so tempting now as it had ever before. But with all of these thoughts, Remington had hardly been able to truly comprehend the shattered gasp of breath abruptly sounding around his feet, nor the trepidation of movement in which Arthur Findeler switched with swift ease to engage in duel.

Though Remington had never been chivalrous, he had never been a fool either. Try as he might, Remington had never the opportunity to gain a resistance against the potion, though he never sought much effort into the idea with so much going on at once. The thought of blasting Arthur that very instance had been a blissful sigh of hope in his world of reigning chaos, but at what cost would it come? The two stood locked with wands pointed at the ready, one truly lifted to the top of the world while the other crumbled beneath the weight. ”Get out, Findeler.” Remington growled a warning to Arthur’s lingered pause, words that had meant little more than a means to an end with a biting slash at Krina to draw blood, and eyes of golden emeralds flashed with a warning.

”You are a fool, Findeler, you know I never invest more than I’ll take, I’ve done nothing, and I care nothing for what’s to come if only to see that I gain what’s mine by right.” Remington paused if not but to delight himself in a smile decayed under calamity. ”If nothing else, I’ll see to it that this world is as it should be, the ministry be damned, they’ve done nothing but cast our world into hell, into debt. And for what? Peace? With the very race that would sooner bomb us if it wasn’t for the fact they know they’ll never find us hiding out in the open as we do?” Biting back his tongue, Remington tasted the thick bittersweet warmth of iron on his tongue, but even so, his tongue fought swiftly with the spirit of Veritaserum to fuel its drive.

”But I don’t hope for his success, no, I work for it because in the end, I know he’ll fail…

“He’s not a king, I am.” Defiant, Remington’s statuesque form struck forward like a viper at heels but instead of casting a spell of combative prowess, he retreated. The call of a curse had sent the floorboards quivering, each and every artifact glowed under a magical tremor and the shop itself burst to life with volcanic explosion to knock off unsuspecting figures from their balance as the floorboards snapped, bent, and slapped at their feet to drive them backwards towards the front door. But through all of this, Remington had disappeared, not quite apparated, but had passed through a mirror with utmost discretion to reach the upper loft of his home above the shop in an elusive manner.

There, Remington slithered to the floor, back pressed against the door, and a hindering blur of black and red to cloud his vision while trying to pick up the fragments to his withering memories.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Spiny Serpent exit to Remy's loft
Desires: Solitude
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pale Mist]

The sound of rattling glass suddenly sounded in the dark, empty loft where Remington Nott's mind began to leak away from him. A raven had flown soundlessly to his window with a burned piece of parchment curled and attached to its leg. Landing on the outside edge of the structure, it hit its beak again the glass as it impatiently awaited for the man to unhinge the latch and allow it to glide in.
Wings spread open wide as it flew into the room and landed on the desk placed adjacent to the window. Turning its liquid black eyes, it ruffled its shinny wings and offered its attached message to the man.
Everything about the raven making obvious that is belonged to The Spider.

The medicine man found his ghost.
He steps now in his sanctuary.

Without even allowing the man a second to finish reading the short, coded message let alone attach a response, the raven exited the room gracefully with no hesitance. Returning to its nest made of web.

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

His world had spun out of control and where it would stop, nobody knew. Vision ran blurry; he lost himself in a sea of time, drowning under the grains of sand as each drip drop collided down around him, destroying his world. Deeper and deeper he submerged beneath the surface dripping like blood from the bottom of a bottle, and through the haze, he could see them all. The masks of faces past painted like masquerades, each one fought to the surface, beseeched his attention. They surrounded him now, there was nothing else. Wiry lips of the ministry, all staring down on him with a smirk on their faces, condescending, coinciding, and the haunt of his words lulled on around him. And then suddenly, hair like bleeding fire erupted, torched his sights and burnt everything to ash leaving nothing untouched. Dark rimmed eyes pierced through the fabrication of illusions, incinerated the decaying life all around him until he was left with her; just her.

And there her visage was painted in his memory, staring at him with those eyes that knew far more than he, with lips far too bloody than should be, and with eyes far too distant to truly see. Remington couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. A thud struck the world like thunder as he dropped his head backwards, rested the weight of the world on the door behind him, and he saw nothing but her.

He couldn’t hide from the façade, and even when he closed his eyes to the darkness, there was a fire that burned within, one that would never die. Combustion rose to his chest, he was ready to burst, hellfire caught in his eyes and he struggled it away, digits like blades slashed at the demons that haunted him. Muscles retracted, tensed, all at once he fought the world around him if only just to rid himself of her. ”Stop,” Remington hollered into the open atmosphere, decayed by his presence.

But, pausing to look down upon himself, he cracked. There was nothing, no one to fight, but there he sat clawing at dancing silhouettes that weren’t really there. He had gone insane, he realized. A hand rose to steady his mind and ease the pressure of the weight of the world. A rapping against glass caused Remington to swirl from where he sat, wand pointed towards the window and a curse on bleeding tongue, but no threats had prevailed, only a raven... It was only a raven.

He shuddered a breath from his life on the edge, slithered to the window pane of his loft and proceeded to unlatch the lock. The carrion bird had only blessed him with ignorance long enough for the frayed message to be retrieved, and the raven was gone.

It hadn’t taken a long moment to realize who the encrypted message was from, sliding the parchment between his fingers, he could feel the abstruse aerial ambiance casted only by one woman he had known, Meryll Mopsus, or rather, The Spider.

Another moment had been spared, Remington knew instinctively who the medicine man would be, and where his sanctuary resided, but the ghost?

And more importantly; why did it matter?

╔══════════════╗
Location: Remy’s loft with The Spiders’ Messenger
Desires: Solitude
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pale Mist]

owner of moribund's
walker and ears of knockturn alley
'the spider'




The oxygen of the air roared and exploded with a crisp magic as the Moribund's owner suddenly appeared with the creek of the floorboards. The loft seemed to constrict with her sudden presence as her focus directly pierced the breaking man. Her caged eyes saw through the physical bars and his many standing walls as they each crumbled from the base crack. His eyes were wild and his thoughts and mind seemed to leak out from his hair and evaporate into the air; lost. Reason was alien to him as everything feel to dust, organs and heart being crushed by the piling burdens. She threw the window open and three of her ravens flew into the room, circling them as the light of the street lamps flickered.
"My disappointment has taken seed in you, Snake in the Wheat. Your mind is oozing." Her foot and body stepped forward toward him a great length, her teeth close enough to bite into his chest and feel his beating heart.
Her wild tones whispered again, "Close your teeth! The Medicine Man may be a masked shadow, but where is your tongue? Your sense!" she spat.A raven landed on her shoulder and snapped its beak acidly at him, no voice breaking from its animal throat as the other two still circled.

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

Treading eye-deep in muddy waters, Remington froze as blood ran cold at twenty below, deemed so wretchedly livid with a plaster of wax and clay to sculpt madness in his face of corruption. Mounted to the heights of his walls like the silent watchman, Remington stared down for all the world to watch him fall. He built himself up into an enclave and cast humanity aside, and even now, with tears of the gods cascading down unto him, drowning him, he stood ever-vigilant in the presence of his spider and her paralytic web. The shock of roaring flames did little to soothe his vexation, but had done hasted work to accommodate his senses, his madness. That’s all it was now, a putrid madness that rot at the center of where his soul should have resided, an incessant void devouring at the heart of conscience. ”My lady,” Remington spat with envenom, the illustrious muse of manipulated charisma and temptation had been lost on frozen tongue. ”You will not find soil as barren as mine, I assure you.” Cryptic codes forked past his tongue as tirelessly he tries. And as she lurched forward, he hadn’t thought to recede away from her intoxicating persistence or flinch under ravenous wings.

”What news have you?” He lashed out with a whip, slicing away the fabrication of her taunts to dive into the depths of her presence… and motives. For as deranged and maniacal as this caged woman was, he had never so much felt quite as belonging and secure as with any ever before. But, perhaps, that was due in part of the sphinx charade they maintained, and even under veritaserum, he knew he would divulge nothing. Honestly, he never truly understood her adverse euphemisms until after the hours of carefully picking apart each word had been wasted away.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Remy’s loft with The Spider
Desires: Solitude
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pale Mist]

owner of moribund's
walker and ears of knockturn alley
'the spider'




She hissed in her throat, teeth bared still. Fingers curled against his chest as she placed her icy hands on him. Knuckles dug into his shivering skin and she allowed them to crawl into the man. Grasp his veins and hold him still so the snake would not slither away before he understood her.
"Hasten me not, or you will get caught in my silk-spun webs, dear Snake." she cackled, tongue rolling and slicing the roof of her mouth with point. Twisted words and hidden means that could only be seen in the gleam of light rolled from her, drenched the air they shared as her very presence threatened horrors. She was a Spider to her name, dropping with fangs bared when least expected, but with the most purpose. Catching her little flies and draining their secrets.
"Every news! Ever flown paper, every printed word. A Titanic of knowledge that will soon sink against you. So hold your heart, breath through your nose. Keep eyes toward the sun and don't let your wings burn, sweet Wheat Snake."
Her nails began to bite into him, clawing and screaming for his understanding. Hoping to rip his blindness from him and allow him to see all the things she could see for him.
"The Wielders are coming for you," she suddenly whispered, voice harsh and serious. As if a sweep of winter had overcome her to the point where she was too cold to shiver; too frozen for her mind to pulse. Her grip continued to tightened into his robes. "Wanting to collect the blood you did not spill. Led by your relic and your kin, the Hound."
Her caged eyes had been solidly locked on where she was allowing his fingers to rip at him, but with her last word she looked up into his golden, green eyes and lost herself in the pool of pain and madness he had been drowning in.
"You need the Medicine Man, more than your sense knows. Just like a mountain needs its every rock; see to his ghost before she rips form your chest."

Her final word was no louder that the wisp of wind that was passing across the windows of the loft. It hitched and hung on her crackled, scale-looking lips and teased and hovered. Her rose up to his height, placing her hands along him carefully but with daggers in her nails. Fingers crawling into the exact places he had been touched before - where Krina had held him not three hours prior.
"The Painted Lady"

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

The light of retrospect had spun a thread of chagrin pressure within, and as she cornered him to his rooted distinction, he could recount the day that he had met this deranged woman, almost to the exact minute. A sky of strewn clouds issued a warning of foreboding demise, and he hadn’t known why, but his legs had been restless and had drawn him to wander the streets of Knockturn Alley. A rain sent dripping acidic promises, kissing the windowpanes of haunted dreams, and decaying the remnants of life with its putrid sense. He met her there, through the rust and rotten dust, but she had seen him long before he had ever set his sights on her. She knew, he recounted with muse, she had known just by the mask that he had structured from the bitter resentment left behind that he was dying. When she called unto him, it had been to declare the death of his soul, and the birth of a monstrosity that would be left behind. But he had laughed, oh, how he had been so spiteful and insinuating.

He nearly knocked her to the ground at her shrieks, nearly cursed her for her demented cries of destruction and decomposition and how he carried himself with the stench of death and the flames of hell. But it had been those last words that had struck his cord, played his strings like an instrument of one not easily manipulated.

’The raven in your head will crow, and your soul will be ripped and left to perish by your own hand. Heed the raven! Heed the spider!’

Realization crashed a dawning embrace as diamond glaciers clutched into his robes on a steely whim, curled blades like scythes into his flesh and restrained him so. Eyes of haunted golden greens searched through the cages, and he had almost been tempted as far as to gently pry away the veneer chamber she confined herself within. His breath had been frozen to his lungs and sat unmoving on his lips, the trepidation sunk into his skin and he couldn’t move, his curiosity would not allow it. Even her taunts hadn't riled his blood nor bid his heart to beat, for now, Remington was as cold as ice.

Ensnared, Remington could only wait for his demise, await the calamity of her reasons as claws dug past barriers. She seeped through like a poison, delving between the cracks left behind by her and assessing every rotten root and bulb left to sprout. And then, the next spat riddle had drawn a sense of serenity over the eye of the storm, only time separated him from the destruction of his own chaos.

"....So hold your heart, breath through your nose. Keep eyes toward the sun and don't let your wings burn, sweet Wheat Snake."

”Chord,” Remington managed through strangled breath, and at her counsel he sought to breathe. But no air would do him justice.

"The Wielders are coming for you,”

The spikes of death pierced through, and he was falling, falling under the weight of eternal damnation, but she held him upright. She readied him, more than once now, and it had been all that spared their relation. ”Who?” He interjected with slithered words. But he had no need to ask, with her next statement, he already knew.

Words like scarlet ribbons caressed his flesh, soothed muscles of tensed restriction and eased delicacies, but just like that, the biting shrill of warning hastened the ends to strangulation, caught in her web. The creeping chill of fingers yet ceased had barely distracted his sights from trying to peer past the structured settlement and witness what even death could not.

"You need the Medicine Man, more than your sense knows. Just like a mountain needs its every rock; see to his ghost before she rips form your chest.”

And then, then he fought to shake away, debilitated and inert. The thought of aid from Alfons had been all he needed to try and struggle away, despite how torpid and wavering it had been, he hadn’t even been able to rid himself of her grip but he recoiled as he could. Shook his head back, tried to shrink. ”I don’t-“ But his body had failed him, and he paused in his torment. The glimpse of sparkled curiosity akin to his nature had ignited a deviant curl on his lips to form a sneer.

”What ghost, tell me! What ghos-” With ferocity lost at sea, Remington had been wrought defenseless. The narrowed confusion of his gaze had dropped and followed skeletal digits that ventured, trailed along the composition of muscle until finally; the grasp of death had clung to his neck, teasing with articulated detail. And time had crashed around, shattered its remnants to be strewn across the desert plains of realization with eyes shocked wide, staring, but unseeing.

”The Painted Lady.”

”…why are you telling me this?” He finally whispered, the madness had been kept at bay if not but for the moment for him to dive into her and sink into the quicksand pit of secrets.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Remy’s loft with The Spider
Desires: Solitude
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pale Mist]

owner of moribund's
walker and ears of knockturn alley
'the spider'




Watching the man crumble under her fingertips was a reveling show. Her crooked, barred teeth flashed again as her cracked lips stretched into a demented smile. She wanted to claw at him, his neck his eyes his very mind and soul. See what he was made of, what was holding this mess of a man together at the core.
A heart, or a dark vacuum of self-hatred.

"Save this despair for the Painted Lady. Her smile is brought out when she can crush you, you pitiful thing. You are under her chains and yet you never truly fight for release. Held by the monster feasting on your soul, sweet tragedy it is! End of all reason! You!" she jabbed her finger into the hallow of his throat while the other ran along the fine gloss of his hair. Twirling it like she spun her web of words. "You seek a knowledge that the Medicine Man has now bottled. Captured and preserved! Even the Painted Lady cannot shatter the glass that holds it. For she only fears one thing."
She allowed the word to hang. Her haunting, caged eyes searched inside his of gold to see how he slipped into his own piles of dust. Breaking and shattering with every moment she hung her thought on him, weighing him down with further burden.
The curiosity now tainting the air intensified. Pulsed like an organ and groaned inside the floor boards making itself known to Remington. Chord could see how he hungered for the things she knew. So she would not hold it from him no longer.
She was his contact.
A bird that sang damned secrets and whispers of the streets into his ear. A foundation for his practice and bank of knowledge. A hunger that fueled his pursuits.
Her toes lifted her higher still and her scaled lips were now a breath away from his ear. Teeth close enough to rip the lobe from his being, see it bleed and hear him shriek to her twisted delight.
"The one thing she always wanted, but never expected to have."

Her cold hand rose from where it still pressed above his collar bone and she lifted it over his rough face. Nails like rocks ran across his chilled skin and torn into the pathetic flesh and bone that hid beneath. She lept backward and cried with hell-bound shrieks to her ravens.
"The Medicine Man holds the ghost in his chest. Bars of rib. Drink his poisons and seek what you want once more! Shed this madness! Raise your bones form the fire of HER."
And without time for the words she cried out to even echo against the walls, she vanished. Three ravens left for company.

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

Remington stood a ghoul among shadows, trapped at the highest peak with statuesque doubts, cornered and vigilant as a gargoyle forever meant to dwell. Water cascaded and trickled down his back, wearing away at the flesh and bone that tied him together like carved in stone and cast in bronze. Where she held him, he could feel the acidic wash of death taint his skin and began to rust away the frigidity he held himself with. Broken, Remington never manifested as much life within as now. As if, as if he truly was composed of conscience and heart like everyone else, but only as if. But, even in the haunted face of estranged clarity, he could only imagine how wretchedly decipherable he had become. Stony faced, seeping doubts oozed through the cracks.

Parched pale lips parted to speak, but not a whisper had been uttered at his expense nor was a gasp exclaimed at the vice grip that penetrated past defenses and tore beneath his jugular, causing the already tightened breaths to freeze within the chasms of his lungs, petrified. She sang her song and spun her tale without faults; Remington without pause. His voice had decayed to ash under her touch, and even as she tortured her information over his head, he couldn’t say a word. Trapped in silken spun webs, Remington flashed with spite, vehement. She lecherously drew closer, forked tongue all but trickling his ear with words that shrouded more questions than gave birth to answers. Glacier digits burnt into his skin, and his eyes fluttered to a close to restrain his efforts from breaking free. He had come to understand, with time, that Chord’s best efforts shone on her own course, despite how a**-backwards it could be. And then the embrace of chilling death fled, Remington’s eyes of gold and green shot open to witness her recoiling leap, her cackled cries and flightless departure.

”Wait!” He stepped forward, but she was gone.

Left alone to wallow in his thoughts, Remington shot a putrid gaze to his fireplace. The thought of Alfons Flint soon snaked to the surface as he stood hollowed out in his reflection, cursing the day that he had been shunned to this and deliberating over what he truly yearns for in life. But mechanical efforts had stirred a rise in Remington and he swayed from where he stood rooted if only to feed the ravens that circled within his home with shredded bits of corn feed.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Remy’s loft with The Spider’s Messengers
Desires: Solitude
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Ura the rainbow King]

❥ŞĦÅΜŰŞ❥ ☠ §ჳწჳ☠

☠Born into a Slytherin Family☠

♠

♕♕Shawn walked into the store, his clothes dirty and ripped, but his face smiling. He did not look like a lord and ladies son...then again he had been disowned. He had enough money to buy something from here though. He was also, surprisingly clean. His teeth were perfect though, as was to be expected of some one of his breeding.

He looked around, seeing one of the Nott's and deciding he did not want to be seen. He walked to the back, in the shadows and took a seat, putting his head in his hands. He felt like sh*t thanks o his thankless job and he was to hungry to put into words, but his damned pride would not let him be.

Hie nails were broken from all of his hard work and his lips would have been dryer then bone if they stopped bleeding. He also looked way to pale...but he still looked happy...and that was a miracle in of it's self. ♕♕

Lived my life as a PROUD GRIFFIN!

♠

 

[Dolphina Oceanus]

Abigail Warstorm
Hogwarts Alumni: Hufflepuff
Wanderer

The door opened and in stepped an attractive woman, dressed in revealing, all black clothes. She wore a sinister look about her, but her eyes conveyed nothing but curiosity. Abigail's dark brown eyes took in the dimly lit store. The walls almost overflowed with all manner of gruesome objects.

Abigail did not know why she had come to this store. She did not want to buy anything. Perhaps she just wanted some darker company then those she could find in the rest of the wizarding world. She decided to look around until someone approached her. The store contained many fine male specimens. No doubt one of them would notice her.

Age: 29 | Relationship Status: Single | Injuries/Illnesses: None

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

Neglectful, Remington had been nothing if not neglecting the past year. His shop soiled, and even the wares began to rust in their place, eager for freedom of leave. Ordinarily, artifacts came and gone as quickly as the patrons that fed their sin there, but not now, a year had gone since his last hunt out on the prowl on the newest spat rumor. But no, the trials of yesterday became lost today, and the tomorrow seemed like a lifetime away. Cataclysmic expectation rose to disastrous exclamation, propriety obscured the sight of day and he was left with all of the dirty work.

But, it was his job.

Now, now he sat at a work bench near one end of the shop, farther from the wares, and farther still from his usual desk close to the fireplace. An ornate violin of gold was carefully collected on the work bench, and around him, hundreds of ancient texts and scrolls of English, French, Spanish, and Latin. He could not allow the ease of theft to be taken into light, Krina had bypassed every magical barrier and he was determined to reinforce it. The eerily familiar screech of wood on wood had alerted him the presence of the young man, exiled from his family, had entered and brushed past without a sound to gaze at what might catch his eyes. Remington had never been too fond of the disowned Sever, though that might have been the prejudice of the lion spirit that dwelled within the frame of clothing torn and tattered, skin matted with dirt and troubles. Even now, Remington could feel the power of the aura suffocating his own weak spirits.

Before Remington had prompted a discussion, the screech ensued once more to his surprise, and turned to find a delightful young blonde, and so petite, he was sure he could throw her around with ease. Remington glanced upwards from the violin at his desk, eyeing both patrons in turn, with eyes of gold and muddled green. Striking pointed features flashed a smirk as he stood, towering, lean and daunting, like the vigil proverbial gargoyle in the night. Donning fresh, crisp, and exquisite robes of black trimmed and detailed in silver, Remington spoke with an haunting melody of bittersweet poisoned innocence. ”Can I help you?”

╔══════════════╗
Location: Spiny Serpent Shawn, Abigail
Desires: Answers
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Dolphina Oceanus]

Abigail Warstorm
Hogwarts Alumni: Hufflepuff
Wanderer

When the handsome fellow behind the store counter asked if he could be of assistance, Abigail let out a slightly mad giggle. "Why yes, you may." She sauntered to the counter and leaned on it, all feminine charm. She now, despite the clouds in her mind, thought of the reason that had first brought her to this place. "But I'm not looking to buy. I am here for information. Do you think you could help?" As she said this, she shifted, making sure her neckline fell lower then most women wore. That guaranteed his attention. She would need it for the information that she came looking for.

Age: 29 | Relationship Status: Single | Injuries/Illnesses: None

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

Remington Jagger Nott

A smirk only befitting of the debauchery corrupted the lips of the devils’ advocate, the loosely wound puppet enacting the harbinger’s justice as he, unbound by law, drummed the strings of life with aching chords of manipulation as his gaze was set upon her, transfixed on only her, and it seemed to him, that all else had burnt to the ground. His speckled gaze wasted no opportunity to tower over and swallow in every detail of exposed cleavage offer to him. ”Well, my sweet, it seems you came to the right place,” Remington offered with an extended hand gesturing the plush wooden chair across from his own as he motioned to sit, and then sat himself.

A brief lingering moment had passed in silence, and Remington found himself in wonder of who, or why, she was, and most importantly, if the price was right. Still, he mused, he had always been a sucker for a pretty face.

”What is it that troubles you?” He decidedly inquired, because, in this business, information almost always derives from the same basis of fundamentals, and that, was vengeance, or justice. He could only wonder which would be the case for the petite blonde before him. His pose, his posture, every fluxation of the air around him commanded power, and demanded respect, but most of all, prompted the pride of true nobleborn pureblood.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Spiny Serpent with Shawn, Abigail
Desires: Answers
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I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care