Feed the Rat

[Elora Tuuri]

"Feed the birds, tuppence a bag ... tuppence, tuppence," sang Elora quietly to herself, smiling into the afternoon sun. It was beating down uncharacteristically for a day in Bulgaria, but there were no complaints from the bustling market-goers. Elora's stall was at the end of the village's cul-de-sac, nestled between a cart piled with omnioculars and a mobile potions seller. Her own stall-on-wheels was covered with tiny twittering, squeaking and growling cages that glittered with wards. Rats, miniature owls, puffskeins, mice, birds of various sizes and poisonous land snails were the least adventurous of her wares, but no one looked twice unless they wanted to purchase anything, for this was the second biggest magical market in Europe. Elora didn't speak a word of Bulgarian or French, but money was a great translator and gestures of 'higher' or 'lower' and 'this is my final offer' were generally universal. She was doing a lot of traveling this year, hoping to pick up new and more exotic species for her menagerie, but truth to be told she was having too much fun sightseeing to worry about the state of her business, now. The food was fantastic, the men were handsome ... and speaking of, who was that rounding the corner and heading her way? Bedknobs and broomsticks, he was a dish and a half. Elora leant against her side-trolley with her lips pursed and her eyes wide with a look of appreciation on her face. The man came closer ... and passed right by. "Damn," she sighed, turning back to her current duty of stuffing straw into a wire cage. However, when she felt around for the warm purple body that should be inhabiting the cage, a little sliver of panic began creeping through her body. Willoughby, the giant chameleon rat from Switzerland, was currently having the time of his life riding on the tails of the handsome stranger who now unwittingly carried a passenger. Elora let out an undignified squeak as she saw the kalaedoscopic rodent swing happily from the wizard's coat. Quick! What's the French for 'There's a rat on your shirt?' thought Elora, panicking utterly.
"Monsieur! Souris ... " No you idiot, that's mouse!. She grabbed her wand and cast a hurried stasis on her marinating pet foods before tripping over her skirts to dash up to the wizard.
"Monsieur-" she gasped as she took a hold of his shoulder. Elora managed to turn him around before she lost her breath completely just gazing at his handsome face. Rat? Something about a rat ... ?​

 

[Petar Olaf]

His free time was actually free, nowadays. Free of the hassle of a love life, or another person to take the feelings of into consideration before wandering off for the day on a whim. Petar could not decide whether this was a good or bad thing, but simply went with the flow of the morning rush, and settled into the afternoon rush. He swept around the corners, his robes struggling to keep up with the speed he walked. The market place was bustling with life. It was not normal for Petar to be at such a place during his time away from work. He was normally at home with his lovely lady. The very same lovely lady who had run out on him and broken his heart, not long ago. His decision to enter the marketplace was due to a peculiar dream about a walrus trying to eat his leg, and he had to get to the market to find someone to save him. He was not normally superstitious, and this dream had been no exception to the rule, however, it couldn't hurt to have a wander and a browse, could it?

At least, that appeared to be the case until a stranger spouting french, ran at him. A mouse? he thought to himself, furrowing his brow as he turned to look the stranger over, suddenly feeling the weight of his wand in its sheath pressing against his leg. It was as though it too was bracing for the very worst situation. "Comment ?" he responded in french to the now-silent stranger. He assumed this was her primary language. After all, it was what she had been shouting.

 

[Elora Tuuri]

Oh Merlin, he was talking to her. It was French, but he was responding. Elora's brown eyes were taking up all avilable space on her brow as she fought to recall the English language in order to translate it into French.
"U ... un rat," she spluttered finally. Frantically, she gestured at his coat to explain, but just as suddenly as he had appeared, Willoughby disappeared. Things couldn't possibly get more awkward. Elora was getting pinker and pinker.
"Votre chemise!" she cried, abruptly remembering the French for shirt. Just as soon as it had come, the language failed her and she went back to clawing for words. Bugger, bugger ... café. Parfait! Croissant! None of these are helpful ... Elora swore at herself in English. She had to make the handsome man stay in order to retrieve her rat, and maybe his phone number if he didn't hex her on the spot. Was his hand twitching for his wand? Quick, think!
It was too late for thinking as Willoughby had made his reappearance, this time on the man's shoulder. The now-orange rodent was starting to nibble on a button.
"Eeek!" said Elora, articularly. Without a word of warning, out shot the shop witch's hands and seized ahold of the rat, who gave an indignant 'Squeak!' at being deprived of buttons. Elora stood, her nose inches from the man's throat, and stared up at him with moon-round eyes.
"I'm ... I'm sorry," she ventured tentatively, fingering her cotton skirt nervously. "It ... it was ... " She held up the rat in mute apology. Now two pairs of eyes were staring at the man: one in silent, mortified apology and the other in hunger and curiosity. "I'm sorry."​

 

[Petar Olaf]

Something gave Petar the idea that French was not this woman's first language, and that nagging doubt was confirmed when she swore in a language he recognised. He recalled an elderly wizard once using the same word, and he had been English. Petar was not entirely sure what had happened next, until the woman stood just inches from him with a rodent clasped between her hands. Petar decided to respond in English, though his fluency was far from the level of his younger brothers. "It is not problem," he pronounced a little cautiously, making sure he was saying the right words. He awarded her a shining smile to show there was no harm done. Besides, it had brought something to his day which would have otherwise been lost. "I am Petar Olaf," he introduced himself, stepping back and giving her a polite bow. "You have.. Ah.. Run away rat?" He had paused to think of the words, and he could only hope the response made sense. He tilted his head curiously at the little creature, before returning his eyes to the witch.