- Messages
- 110
There really wasn't much stopping an underhanded person from making underhanded deals with other underhanded people in Bleak Street. Calcifur hadn't seen an auror in this part of the alley since the post-You Know Who era. Technically he was still part of the post-You Know Who era. In fact, forever after would always remain slightly more special than usual as the shadow of the Dark Lord fell on no one but the worms. It was well starting to fade into the backs of people's minds, and Calcifur had only thought of it briefly to remark to himself about changes it had caused over the years: like the complete and gratifying absence of any form of law upholding here. Maybe the Pigs were getting lax, or maybe they couldn't be bothered with small-time crooks anymore since they'd already fried the biggest fish, but either way, it had been smooth sailing for the dark eyed wizard since early morning. Calcifur worked one of those 'behind the scenes' jobs that didn't do mentioning in polite company. He supplied the less legal substances and artifacts to the outwardly legal businesses and corporations in wizarding New Zealand, sometimes having to get rather steeped in violence to comply with the client's wishes. He was not, by nature, a violent man, but only by necessity when the going got irritating. So far things had gone rather smoothly, but one supplier was giving him hell in almost full view of the dirty, sinister public.
"I told you I'd have it by Monday!" blustered the wrinkly vendor. "It is Monday," interjected Calcifur wearily. A throbbing of intermingled pain and annoyance began beating at his left temple. The tall wizard glanced left and right to see what vagabonds were taking an interest in his endeavour, but most had deigned to keep their eyes on their own wares for fear of upsetting what they knew to be an unforgiving customer. The decrepit old man he was negotiating with was too loud and too deceptive for his liking. He could see what he required dangling 'hidden' beneath the vendor's cloak. No doubt he lied only to keep it for another offer, sold at a much higher price. "No, no, no, Monday the seventeenth-" said the vendor quickly as Calcifur took a calm step forward. Without any further provocation, the man whipped out a grubby old wand and aimed it jerkily at Calcifur's neck. He almost had to stand on tiptoes in order to lift his arm high enough. "Now just you clear off, Mudblood!" he croaked. "I'll not be selling it to you for under 15 galleons, and you can take yourself clean off to your employer and tell 'im so! Scum of the streets-". Calcifur made no response to the jibe about is blood heritage and listened almost patiently as the man squealed on. Abruptly enough was enough, and the street echoed with a crack as Calcifur punched the vendor full in the jaw. Down went the bag of bones, and the rest of the street hawkers suddenly had somewhere else to be very fast. Whimpering, the man clutched his jaw and cursed up at Calcifur, his wand forgotten. Calcifur's robes swept the sticky ground as he bent to remove the dangling package, cutting the attached string with a pocket knife. "My regards," said Calcifur, without a smile. The tall wizard stood to pocket his collectings when footsteps echoed up the winding cobblestones. Finally he glanced up to meet the intruder upon his little scene of woe, and he slipped both pocket knife and package into his robes, palming his wand into his hand in the same movement.
"I told you I'd have it by Monday!" blustered the wrinkly vendor. "It is Monday," interjected Calcifur wearily. A throbbing of intermingled pain and annoyance began beating at his left temple. The tall wizard glanced left and right to see what vagabonds were taking an interest in his endeavour, but most had deigned to keep their eyes on their own wares for fear of upsetting what they knew to be an unforgiving customer. The decrepit old man he was negotiating with was too loud and too deceptive for his liking. He could see what he required dangling 'hidden' beneath the vendor's cloak. No doubt he lied only to keep it for another offer, sold at a much higher price. "No, no, no, Monday the seventeenth-" said the vendor quickly as Calcifur took a calm step forward. Without any further provocation, the man whipped out a grubby old wand and aimed it jerkily at Calcifur's neck. He almost had to stand on tiptoes in order to lift his arm high enough. "Now just you clear off, Mudblood!" he croaked. "I'll not be selling it to you for under 15 galleons, and you can take yourself clean off to your employer and tell 'im so! Scum of the streets-". Calcifur made no response to the jibe about is blood heritage and listened almost patiently as the man squealed on. Abruptly enough was enough, and the street echoed with a crack as Calcifur punched the vendor full in the jaw. Down went the bag of bones, and the rest of the street hawkers suddenly had somewhere else to be very fast. Whimpering, the man clutched his jaw and cursed up at Calcifur, his wand forgotten. Calcifur's robes swept the sticky ground as he bent to remove the dangling package, cutting the attached string with a pocket knife. "My regards," said Calcifur, without a smile. The tall wizard stood to pocket his collectings when footsteps echoed up the winding cobblestones. Finally he glanced up to meet the intruder upon his little scene of woe, and he slipped both pocket knife and package into his robes, palming his wand into his hand in the same movement.