Callum Copperworth
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 63
Cal threw down the paperwork in his office as though it had personally insulted his grandmother. He considered setting it alight with his wand, but he settled for stubbing out his cigarillo in the middle of the scattered sheets. His patchy, red-leather chair creaked as he leaned into it, rubbing his forehead irritably. Technically, he was expecting a Floo call in another fifteen minutes, which was why he was wasting his time faffing about in the office instead of monitoring the auction he was supposedly hosting downstairs.
Atlantis City was the name of Callum Copperworth's newest 'little venture', as he called it. For a little venture, an established four-star hotel under his new ownership was daring, indeed, but he'd never been called a coward when it came to business. It was pure luck that the London outer-city building had come into his hands. It was a classic case of him knowing a fellow who knew a fellow who knew a fellow who happened to want to sell up and move to the Bahamas, and there Cal was with greedy palms wide open and a pocket full of galleons. The deed was legitimate, and so were the coins, but his method of acquiring them was somewhat questionable. Jokes aside, Callum had never done a day's work in his life, and this whole 'owner of fancy hotel' thing was starting to become tedious.
Atlantis was this morning's venue for an estate clearance auction. It was filled with fancy pricks in stuffed suits, and sleek, beautiful old witches with faces slathered in anti-wrinkle potions. Some of them had done Cal a solid, unintentionally, by bringing their bored children who had too much money and time on their hands, so it would have been worth his time to be there chatting them up. He flirted well enough with the rich boys, but it was the rich women he'd usually wine and dine for the evening. They'd usually clutch at him like a lifeline, desperate to escape the monotony of tapping gavels and unfilling finger-foods.
"Sod it," muttered Callum under his breath, and pushed his chair back hard enough that it tipped over. He ignored the clunk it made as it hit the floor. He was already at the elevator by the time the manager had caught up to him.
"Mr Copperworth!" said the pale, freckly thirty-year old who ran The City's day-to-days. Cal shuddered to himself at being addressed by his (abysmal) surname.
"What."
Mr Wilkes squeezed himself into the one-person elevator beside him. Callum adjusted the cuffs of his tweed suit and did not look up. Their ride could not go fast enough. He pressed the button to the first floor, and Mr Wilkes reluctantly pressed for the lobby. He'd been trying to catch his employer all day, and had had a cleaner watch Cal's office door for when he unlocked it and finally emerged.
"Sir, the water company has called, and they're issuing a final notice about the third floor pipes. If the plumbing in room eighty-two doesn't stop backing up, they've said-"
"Mr Wilkes."
"Yes, Sir?"
Callum watched the lights move (slowly, too slowly) between levels.
"Have I ever told you what a wonderful job you do here, for me?"
Mr Wilkes, suddenly looking much younger than his years, beamed at him. Cute enough, for a ginger, thought Callum. Oh yes, that's why I hired him. "Yes, Sir, every day!" said The City's manager.
"Great. Now, you hold onto that heart-warming thought for another, say, three hours, whilst I go and entertain the lovely people at Davids and Davids Auctions before they start pocketing the silverware and spitting in my plant pots."
Mr Wilkes' face was worth putting off the water company for one more day. Callum pinched his cheek, grinned handsomely, then exited the elevator at precisely the right moment so that his manager was left forlornly traveling to the ground floor.
What a waste of a good walk. The auction items were abysmally non-magical, the patrons plain, and Callum had half a mind to fire their new caterer. He flicked an olive off of his vol-au-vent and tried to appear as though he at least wanted to sample it. Cal was lounging on the small bar in a room just off the 'auction hall', which was usually just a parlour, when something he heard made him cough out a piece of pastry.
"Richard Shaggington, a pleasure to meet you,"
Callum dropped the vol-au-vent onto the bar and craned his neck through the doorway to catch sight of the ridiculous person who'd been blessed with the most hilarious name he'd ever heard. Merlin's Knickers, the man was beautiful. This was the world's idea of a cosmic joke. Callum began to snicker, loudly enough that he received a few dirty looks from his fancy little cash-cows. He scowled right back, and kept looking at the walking Statue of David.
Atlantis City was the name of Callum Copperworth's newest 'little venture', as he called it. For a little venture, an established four-star hotel under his new ownership was daring, indeed, but he'd never been called a coward when it came to business. It was pure luck that the London outer-city building had come into his hands. It was a classic case of him knowing a fellow who knew a fellow who knew a fellow who happened to want to sell up and move to the Bahamas, and there Cal was with greedy palms wide open and a pocket full of galleons. The deed was legitimate, and so were the coins, but his method of acquiring them was somewhat questionable. Jokes aside, Callum had never done a day's work in his life, and this whole 'owner of fancy hotel' thing was starting to become tedious.
Atlantis was this morning's venue for an estate clearance auction. It was filled with fancy pricks in stuffed suits, and sleek, beautiful old witches with faces slathered in anti-wrinkle potions. Some of them had done Cal a solid, unintentionally, by bringing their bored children who had too much money and time on their hands, so it would have been worth his time to be there chatting them up. He flirted well enough with the rich boys, but it was the rich women he'd usually wine and dine for the evening. They'd usually clutch at him like a lifeline, desperate to escape the monotony of tapping gavels and unfilling finger-foods.
"Sod it," muttered Callum under his breath, and pushed his chair back hard enough that it tipped over. He ignored the clunk it made as it hit the floor. He was already at the elevator by the time the manager had caught up to him.
"Mr Copperworth!" said the pale, freckly thirty-year old who ran The City's day-to-days. Cal shuddered to himself at being addressed by his (abysmal) surname.
"What."
Mr Wilkes squeezed himself into the one-person elevator beside him. Callum adjusted the cuffs of his tweed suit and did not look up. Their ride could not go fast enough. He pressed the button to the first floor, and Mr Wilkes reluctantly pressed for the lobby. He'd been trying to catch his employer all day, and had had a cleaner watch Cal's office door for when he unlocked it and finally emerged.
"Sir, the water company has called, and they're issuing a final notice about the third floor pipes. If the plumbing in room eighty-two doesn't stop backing up, they've said-"
"Mr Wilkes."
"Yes, Sir?"
Callum watched the lights move (slowly, too slowly) between levels.
"Have I ever told you what a wonderful job you do here, for me?"
Mr Wilkes, suddenly looking much younger than his years, beamed at him. Cute enough, for a ginger, thought Callum. Oh yes, that's why I hired him. "Yes, Sir, every day!" said The City's manager.
"Great. Now, you hold onto that heart-warming thought for another, say, three hours, whilst I go and entertain the lovely people at Davids and Davids Auctions before they start pocketing the silverware and spitting in my plant pots."
Mr Wilkes' face was worth putting off the water company for one more day. Callum pinched his cheek, grinned handsomely, then exited the elevator at precisely the right moment so that his manager was left forlornly traveling to the ground floor.
What a waste of a good walk. The auction items were abysmally non-magical, the patrons plain, and Callum had half a mind to fire their new caterer. He flicked an olive off of his vol-au-vent and tried to appear as though he at least wanted to sample it. Cal was lounging on the small bar in a room just off the 'auction hall', which was usually just a parlour, when something he heard made him cough out a piece of pastry.
"Richard Shaggington, a pleasure to meet you,"
Callum dropped the vol-au-vent onto the bar and craned his neck through the doorway to catch sight of the ridiculous person who'd been blessed with the most hilarious name he'd ever heard. Merlin's Knickers, the man was beautiful. This was the world's idea of a cosmic joke. Callum began to snicker, loudly enough that he received a few dirty looks from his fancy little cash-cows. He scowled right back, and kept looking at the walking Statue of David.