Chimera -> Quoting a Post in you were the prettiest thing i ever stole

Last 10 Posts [ In reverse order ]

Erica Hooter	Posted on Feb 2 2012, 03:30 PM
	His description of this dank and inexplicably damp edge of Knockturn Alley almost had her laughing outright, but sucking her lip back in seemed to do the trick. Completely transparent by now, hand withdrawn from the cauldron to fiddle with the embroidery on a finely made sleeve, she eyed him; it was good to see him well, and though it was really none of her business, it was good to see him getting along. That he didn't seem to hold their unfair end against her was all the encouragement she needed, apparently - any lingering guilt had almost been pushed to the back of her mind completely, being a somewhat shameless creature by nature. "Oh, no doubt! If you're here anyway," she said, and smiled at him. It stopped about a tooth short of delighted, and yet still had much of the same amused brightness as before; it was no small pleasure to hear that he was still using 'Honest Willy' sincerely. "Do they really? Then it must be true. My name's Erica," replied the well-dressed woman quietly, politely and conspicuously without the adopted surname of her very serious husband. From the slightly overlong sleeve emerged a pale hand, pretty and proper as ever, held out in a well-practiced gesture. Palm down as though expecting a kiss instead of a handshake, an oddly prominent chin held high, she thought she must have painted quite the pretty picture. Well, she thought that until one of his friends chimed in from the back of their little party. Even her indignation seemed properly put together, righteous and almost huffy; it wasn't much like the catfighting girl on the floor of the Slytherin girls' dormitory, that was for certain. However, there was a more highly offended edge to it - an almost scandalized look that only Willy knew she wasn't quite entitled to - and she snapped back before she had really thought about it. That much was the same, that abrupt and startling change of moods - that much might never change, no matter how many soirees or brunches she attended. "A what? Oh, big talk from a peddler of moldy old suits, isn't it?" she replied, lips pursed as a schoolmarm's and attention completely stolen from Willy Wagstaff to survey his friends properly. "Charmed, I'm sure."
William Wagstaff	Posted on Mar 3 2011, 12:26 PM
	A second cough followed, a little hoarser this time, as though it were covering an even worse onset of laughter than previously. Erica's overplayed innocence was just too much; her incredulous voice was pitch-perfect, and her timing exactly in sync. What was best was the dual meaning behind every word, the layered intentions that they both immediately understood so well, without pause or hesitation. It was as though those bygone years had never happened, that she'd never left at all. "Oh aye, reputable," he echoed, recovering with remarkable quickness. "This grand ol' storefront y'see before you," he said, casting his hand out to summarily encompass the obscenely bright cauldrons, his dodgy friends, and the dirty corner they all occupied, "is the most reputable place in Diagon Alley, I'll have you know. Just look around. So clean, so bright, so crowded by respectable folk like yarself. And these trustworthy fellows would sooner kill themselves 'fore trying to sell ya something not topnotch. Don'tcha feel safe just being round'ere?" By this time, he was no longer playing subtle either - and really, he didn't think he could any longer. The trace of her familiar smirk had been enough to tempt something outright. "And lyin'? Me? Wouldn't dream of it. Why, you know what they call me 'round these parts? Honest Willy." And here, he stuck out a rather dirty hand, the introduction apparently earnest despite his grin. "Honest Willy," he repeated, "pleased to make your acquaintance. I'll keep 'em rotten apples off ya, yeah?" In the backdrop, his friends were still staring with bemused expressions as they listened in on the bewildering conversation. A few peered unscrupulously in Erica's direction, as though trying to decide what was wrong with her; others eyed Willy in the aftermath of his grand speech, perhaps realizing this was a joke of some kind. "Okay," said Little Lou, finally butting in. "Will ya tell us what's goin' on 'ere? Is this one o' your whore friends you got dressed up and come down here? Make us all look like idiots? Real funny, I tell ya. A real comedian."
Erica Hooter	Posted on Feb 21 2011, 09:02 PM
	In their short interaction, they seemed to have slipped back into rhythm - though the rhythm was a peculiar one, at best. Quite different from the rhythm of life as Mrs. Selwyn, at any rate. Apparently, to her delight, they still shared more or less the same humour; his cough only encouraged her further, as she recalled he'd had a habit of doing in years past. Years of disuse made the act difficult to hold together though, and she almost let out a loud laugh as well. It was hard to keep the crooked smile without grinning outright, especially given the reactions of his friends, but she managed. A strange, vague sense of deja vu struck her as they muttered amongst themselves. Memories of that well-spent Christmas in London resurfaced in fragments - though she had to admit that this lot lacked much of Willy's childhood gang's odd, ragtag brand of charm. Many of the memories carried their own nostalgia and charm, but with a definite sting at the tail. In a strange way, she found herself missing even that and, for just a moment, she paused to consider how they might be. This wondering was quickly lost and forgotten though, under about a hundred more of the like - all to do with Willy. His reaction and decision to play along had her near laughter again in no time though. The little warning struck her particularly, especially when coloured so vividly by his accent, but his casual usage of the word 'honest' was what truly tickled her. As though it was some sort of code word, it struck a cord in her as soon as he'd uttered it. However, she was somehow able to suppress her grin yet again, and adopted an expression of mock surprise accordingly. Outright sarcasm almost sprang out immediately, a dramatic, what, here?, but she contained it. "Rotten apples...?" she said instead, looking for all the world as though mesmerized by the suspicious salesman's warnings. "But I can't imagine you lying to me," she told him, and had to cut herself short to avoid using his name. Slowly, it was beginning to look a lot less like acting, and much more like teasing. Giving his suit a lingering glance, she took her time in adding onto it. When she raised pale eyes to meet his again, her expression held a bit more of that dry humour from moments ago. "You seem very reputable," she said easily, and was unable to keep the smirk off her face as she fidgeted minutely with the rim of the cauldron.
William Wagstaff	Posted on Feb 21 2011, 01:06 PM
	A smirk had overcome Willy's lips as soon as his companions had begun calling out - and it very nearly solidified into a laugh when she addressed them, with such improper propriety, as gentlemen. He hid it with a rather untimely cough. The other merchants did not find it half so amusing as he did, apparently, especially when Erica limited her interest only to their friend's paper cauldrons. Honestly, what was so damned charming about Willy and the yellow pewter anyway? That streetrat was as dirty as the rest of them, and his wares no less suspicious. They murmured resentfully to each other, and one of them even called out a sullen "ya sure?" as he crossed his arms. To Willy's amusement and Tommy's disappointment, the other woman was not nearly as receptive, and stalked off in a huff of indignation. With the departure of one constraint seemed to follow many others: decorum and carefulness, at the very least. At the word handsome, the expressions of jealousy quickly turned into complete and utter disbelief. A few gaped, others scratched their ears, and Lou whispered quite audibly, "What did she just say?" Willy himself had to hold back another onset of laughter, which was a very near miss this time. Her crooked smile and sleazy voice were simultaneously strange and familiar; he would be lying if he said he hadn't missed it. With delight did he see that she had lost none of that charm limited to his knowledge, despite her marriage to Ambrose and all the finery she wore now. He could not look at her without remembering their adventures together, their schemes and their mischief, and was affected with a level of nostalgia previously thought impossible. There were other less happy sentiments that lingered in his mind, to be sure, but he was presently having too much fun to give them much weight. And so, he affected a smile just as uneven and sly as hers, taking her comment as though it had been nothing out of the ordinary. "Well, I might ask what's a well-ta-do girl like yourself is doing buyin' them," he returned, before his lips took a devilish turn. "There are shifty people down 'ere, ya know? Rotten apples, ya might say. Try to cheat you outta your money, they will. Not like an honest bloke like me."
Erica Hooter	Posted on Feb 21 2011, 02:04 AM
	His falter only widened Erica's smile, which now had a considerably wicked little edge to it. It was clear that his memory had been triggered by this little comment, and she felt a small jolt that he'd remembered it in the first place. She had clearly taken him by surprise because, for a moment, he didn't say anything at all; it gave her time to feel anxious as to how he'd react to her. Quicker than she had expected though, Willy had recovered, and was now adding onto the little joke in a grand fashion. Rapidly, it became quite clear that he recalled the incident even more vividly than she. Pelvic white, she recalled warmly, and with no shortage of amusement, that's the one I forgot. A girlish urge to greet him properly stole over her, but fleetingly - an outburst wouldn't do. Even a proper how do you do? felt sort of out of place. In this corner of Knockturn Alley, it was true that it'd surely to go unnoticed by any passer-by; the same could not be said for Jeanette, who still hovered disapprovingly over Erica's shoulder. "Very lovely," she began, but found that another man was now addressing her. Cutting herself off, she turned her attention to him. He proceeded to pull loose a great load of moldy old suits; vaguely, Erica wondered if this wasn't where Willy had procured his. An uneven, sardonic sort of smile surfaced, if only for a moment, at her own personal joke. However, it was soon lost in the cordial smile of a priveledged young woman. She inclined her head in polite interest to the various offers. "Oh, gentleman," she began, and then paused. The true comicality of her word choice struck her only after she spoke. Gentlemen, indeed. As a result of this second personal joke, the laughter threatening to bubble up was just barely evident in her voice as she continued. "That's very kind," she told them, "but I really only need a cauldron." Though her smile remained fixed, she glanced back in Willy's direction, and there was a dry sort of humour about her eyes. Jeanette was looking thoroughly harrassed by now, and was nothing short of scandalized by her friend's behaviour. Honestly, she was acting practically familiar with the unimpressive man in the old suit. And now that the conversation had taken a decided turn for the strange, she was left to stand and wonder. The sudden bustling of the group before them seemed to ruffle her feathers well enough, and the good-natured, albeit lacking, grin was the last straw. "Erica, for pity's sake," she spoke quickly, words sharp with impatience. "I'll meet you there," Jeanette said, and turned pompously on her heel to continue down the street. Though she did not look back to see if Erica had followed, she latter was quite sure that it had been expected of her. And, for just a moment, she had been about to do just that - but really, where was the harm? So, unable to pull herself away from Honest Willy's colourful display of cauldrons just yet, she gave the nearest one another casual knock. Much of the presumption seemed to melt off her expression after Jeanette's departure, and a seemingly uncharacteristically crooked smile replaced the fixed one. "So," she said over the yellow cauldron, voice low again and still apparently running with their little joke. Her eyebrow quirked just slightly, and she affected a rather sleazy expression, which seemed almost obscene, given the rest of her appearance. "What's a handsome guy like you doing selling cauldrons in Knockturn Alley?"
William Wagstaff	Posted on Feb 21 2011, 01:13 AM
	Willy was admittedly surprised by his good luck, as were his friends - there was a good deal of mutinous murmuring going on behind his back; Tommy had even let out a low whistle of admiration. But luck was luck, and as a professional opportunist, he was least of all the kind to let such situations slip by without milking them for all their worth. These pureblood elites were a funny sort sometimes, and could afford to be whimsical in their tastes. And besides, if her unhesitant belief so far was to say anything, perhaps she was simply very naive or at least extremely gullible. Rich and gullible was his favorite combination. "Ah yeah, real live pewter," said he, delighting in the substantial echo of the fake cauldron. Merlin, he was getting good with these enchantments. The prospect of making an early profit was giving his smile added luster already. "Where I get it from, they mix 'em real good, y'know? None o' that filler shit." As she continued speaking, his eyes drifted to the cauldron as well, nodding pleasantly to her words. "It is, ain't it? Charming color, that sunshine yellow. Why, the..." His tongue stumbled over the phrase - which suddenly registered as all too familiar - and then slowed altogether as recognition sank in. Now he remembered where he'd heard it before, but it couldn't possibly be - could it? Instinctively, his gaze focused on her with a concentrated interest previously unshown, such that the sudden twist of his neck was entirely conspicuous. He stared, in an undiluted manner so different from his usual peripheral glances. And there she was. Dressed in the highest finery, practically oozing wealth, and prim pureblood smile in place - but it was indisputably Erica Hooter, blue-eyed and regal. If nothing else, that suggestion of a smile (the kind he had gotten good at spotting) was her own, and marked her immediately in his mind. A whole range of emotions knocked into him the temporary paralysis of his tongue, and left in its wake the very rare image of a speechless Honest Willy. For perhaps the space of a moment, he even seemed almost slack-jawed, though the necessity of keeping up appearances quickly bought composure. Surprise lingered still, as well as a familiar fondness; he brushed over the prickle of knee-jerk bittersweetness that came with it. Regaining himself, as few could do, he picked up after Erica's companion spoke, without missing a beat. "Ah, but these aren't cheap - are they, boys?" He paused as those behind him loyally shook their heads, though some suppressed grins. "They're top-quality, I'll have you know, the best of the best. Why, they come in the best o' color as well. Forget sunshine yellow, we also got bruise brown o'er here, and this one strikes me as pelvic white. Lovely shades, eh?" For their part, his friends were looking a mixture of bewildered and jealous. That such a rich-looking girl had condescended to stop at all was enough, but that she was looking at Willy's wares enthusiastically, to boot! It was too much good fortune to let that greasy weasel hoard. "Oi, miss," piped up Lou, pulling out his rack of moldy suits. "If you like'm cauldrons, maybe you give these suits a look too, eh? They're just as good quality, you count on it." This prompted a deluge of four or five more offers, followed by a wide Toothless Tommy grin aimed hopefully in Jeanette's direction.
Erica Hooter	Posted on Feb 20 2011, 11:25 PM
	Erica, who was making a show of not looking directly at Willy, watched from the corner of her eye as he easily put on a smile. It was such a strikingly familiar expression that she was practically incapable of suppressing her own. Much to her delight, it was clear that he had not yet recognized her and, despite having been under the impression that she'd matured since she'd wed Ambrose, she was not about to give up the little act. So she covered up the amused grin by drawing attention upward, primping at her hair in an unecessarily dainty gesture; it wasn't entirely out of place though, as Jeanette was behaving very much the same. Well, perhaps with a touch more venom. Pursing her lips, the blonde clicked her tongue and all but rolled her eyes at Willy's murmurings. However, Erica was another story entirely - she was a vision of fascination as she leaned forward as bidden. Hesitating just long enough to appear timid about doing so, she did indeed reach out and give it a similar rap with her own knuckles. The clank was echoed, and she caught herself wondering just what the catch was. However, she didn't make her skepticism plain, nor did she skip a beat in appearing impressed by his wares. "Oh! Pewter, you said?" she said in mock admiration, much to Jeanette's annoyance. Continuing despite her friend's increasingly loud clicks of the tongue, Erica examined the cauldron he'd mentioned. She gave it a lingering look, and even a rather solid knock, before raising her eyes again to Willy; taking note of the cigarette he was holding, she gave it an equally lingering look. Truth be told, she was more tempted to make an offer on a smoke than any cauldron, faulty or not. But it wasn't really all that surprising - hell, she was twenty years old and still sneaking midnight cigarettes out her bathroom window. Finally, she tore her eyes from his hand though, and returned her gaze to his face. A rather sentimental thought striking her, she decided on a whim to drop a hint; of course, an obscure hint, because of the presence of Jeanette. But it was a hint nonetheless. "I don't know about pixie dust," she told him in a similarly lowered voice, leaned in conspiratorially as well. "But I do think that this one is a very charming sunshine yellow. I think it might be my favourite," she said candidly, one eyebrow arching just hardly. Looking most uncomfortable in comparison to Erica's apparent ease at associating with street urchins, Jeanette gave her sleeve a gentle pluck. In what could be called nothing, if not a hiss, Jeanette offered her skepticism once more, "We're not in Knockturn Alley to shop for cheap cauldrons."
William Wagstaff	Posted on Feb 20 2011, 10:27 PM
	A silver lighter had been duly passed to Willy as he in turn distributed cigarettes; for people of apparently limited means, they seemed adept at getting their hands on any number of things. "Nice lighter," he commented, admiring its sheen as he lighted up. "Yeah, don't get used to it in your hand," replied Little Lou, tone somewhat facetious but hand still outstretched. "And don't let me catch it missin' later, either, I know your handiwork." "You wound me, Lou, ya really do," drawled Willy, though with an easy smirk. As he handed back the lighter, his companions turned to look at a couple of passersby, a few letting out mildly offensive catcalls - nothing out of the ordinary for the Knockturn slums. It took only one look for him to dismiss them as customers - they were dressed much too fashionably to consort with shifty merchants - and he spared them no more than a first glance. Instead, taking a slow drag from his cigarette, he spread his gaze in another direction, hoping to stake out citizens of some lower class. Just as he spotted a gentleman with a ragged cloak, however, he was interrupted. Interrupted by no less than one of the women he had just put out of his mind. He was momentarily surprised, but Honest Willy never remained off his feet for too long. Putting on a roguishly charming smile, he slipped quickly into his salesman persona. "Sketchy, poor little me?" said he, raising his voice just enough to sound humorously aghast. "Not at all, I'm tellin' you. Why, a look at these cauldrons here and you'll know it's only good business come outta here." He tapped his knuckle to one of the enchanted cauldrons, which dutifully made an honest clanking noise. "See? Strong pewter, last you for ages, feel for yourself," he churned out professionally, as his friends stared, still somewhat surprised, at the two women. He himself had not looked at them properly yet, too busy regaining his footing - all he had caught was a rustle of silk and finery. And really, that was all he needed to know: that they could more than afford his asking price. "Since you seem to have good taste," he went on, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "how's about this yellow one 'ere? I let you in on a trade secret, I will. This here's got infused pixie dust."
Erica Hooter	Posted on Feb 17 2011, 10:18 PM
	It was funny how days seemed to run into each other when she slipped into the rhythm that was pureblood life. Some might call it secure, or even comforting - but, try as she might, Erica could not call it nothing but miserable. A fixed and inflexible schedule was of absolutely no comfort to her, and though the promise of financial security went a long way to soothing her melancholy, it could not cure the utter lack of variety she faced. Things went about in the same drab routine, more or less, with each passing day, week, month. She resigned herself to sitting through each brunch and dinner party and friendly visit and gala - all scribbled meticulously into Ambrose�s appointment book, worked around his job and whatever it was he went out to do at night. And the time left over? That was what she dreaded most: nights of silence, wherein she was expected to keep up her worn-out charade that she was pleased as punch to be Mrs. Erica Selwyn, trophy-wife and layabout extraordinaire. Three years of marriage had all but worn her down; she hated to say it, but Zamira had been right. She just wasn�t cut out for this. Nobody was. While she had been kept mildly entertained for a while, the glamour of her lifestyle had worn quite smooth by the time their one year anniversary rolled around. Needless to say, her depression was at a clinical level after two more years of the same. Lunch with Ambrose had been exceedingly tense earlier that day, a rather new development in their marriage. The ill-feeling was palpable between the couple, and she imagined they both had their own reasons for it. Most of it, for Erica, had to do with a contempt that had slowly festered; most of this stemmed not from feeling trapped, though Merlin knew she did, but from his questionable dealings. As a rule, questionable was nothing that made Erica blink twice, but this was different. While hanging around with that foul, purist gang of boys had been bad enough in school, he just had to continue once they left - but really, that wasn�t the worst of it. He�d come home one night, ages ago, it seemed - he�d been sporting an ugly, angry brand freshly pressed into his arm. Just what in the hell was he getting into that Riddle felt the need to brand him, like cattle? She wasn�t privy to his work with that group, but it didn�t take a genius to figure out that something was quite wrong. That mysterious bit, along with his ever-increasing anti-Muggle sentiments, went a long way toward breeding the repulsion she now felt whenever he opened his mouth to speak. It was like he could do no right. She�d known people like this before, people who made her jaw tighten and her stomach clench just by looking at her - but for Merlin�s sake, she was married to him. There was a small exchange of words turned sour rather quickly when the conversation veered in the direction of his nightly activities. An uncharacteristically venomous snap from Erica earned her a little show; Ambrose nearly lost his temper. Instead of turning it into an outright quarrel though, he gave her a little push out the door. This was not as bad as it could�ve been though, as he seemed always to slip her some money before he dismissed her from their shared home. He had told her to just go to Twilfitt and Tatting�s, or wherever the hell it is you spend all my gold, sounding very strained to remain civil before he kissed her forehead grudgingly. She retreated to the bedroom they shared, in search of a cloak worth wearing in public; somewhere close to an hour later, she had actually left the home. Of course, this was not before she managed to get in contact with a friend to accompany her. Jeanette Broadmoor, whom she had met through their husbands� friendship, was more than happy to get out of her house as well, and accompany her friend to Twilfitt and Tatting�s for an impromptu afternoon of dress shopping. Like so many people Erica currently associated with, she hadn�t much in common with Jeanette - well, not really. Outwardly, they were like two of a kind, proper and charming, both with a flare for fashion and spending. While Jeanette was widely considered the pretty one, Erica liked to think that she was the clever one. What her friend didn�t realise was that sometimes she had a way of grinding on Erica�s nerves nearly as much as Ambrose did. But, she reasoned, being annoyed was better than shopping alone, wasn�t it? Anyway, as Ambrose would crossly inform her, it wouldn't do for a woman to go to a place like Knockturn Alley unaccompanied. So, as it happened, she had a blonde companion in tow - or maybe it was the other way around - as the two strolled down Diagon Alley. Of course, both were striking even in Diagon Alley, dressed to the nines, but a quick turn to the right brought them down Knockturn Alley; from there, though things became much more colourful, they drew a great deal more attention to themselves, for all their frivolty and finery. For the women though, it was visually over-stimulating, and they, as a rule, attempted to keep their eyes fixed forward. But something in particular had caught Jeanette�s eye, and she peered down her nose into a cauldron as she passed the small group of men. "Honestly," she commented, drawing Erica's attention. When she followed her friend�s gaze, she almost dismissed them immediately and continued walking with an inattentive nod - though it would've been decidedly lacking her dismissive sniff, she thought. But something made her take the time to look again: there, in the middle of Knockturn Alley, sat Willy Wagstaff. Honest Willy Wagstaff. She hadn�t seen him in - Merlin, had it really been three years? Yes - three. Since she and Ambrose got married. Almost as though shedding her silly surname meant that she must squeeze any ounce of colour from her life, their correspondences had accordingly tapered off to a halt. Guilt pressed on her for the first time in what felt like ages, and made her hesitate to continue along; that, and her curiosity got the better of her. Quite honestly, it was a struggle not to feel totally delighted when she looked at him now, looking so...well, so very much like he always had. From his hair to his expression to his company to his old suit - he hadn't aged a day. A wave of fondness hit her, and she tried to shake it away, even as she doubled back with a murmur to her friend. "Hold on, Jeanette," she said, ever the actress, "I want to have a look at these cauldrons." Now up close to the cauldrons, she made a show of peering down into one before looking at the men around, as though guessing who they might�ve belonged to. �Erica,� her blonde friend was stalking over hesitantly, �don�t buy from them. They�re...they�re sketchy.�
William Wagstaff	Posted on Feb 16 2011, 10:40 PM
	It was a lazy afternoon that saw Willy Wagstaff slowly traversing Diagon Alley that day, with a heap of garish cauldrons in tow. Those who made room for him and his large merchandise tended to wrinkle their noses, whether it was because of his reputation or his appearance; presently, he was sporting an old suit that looked as out of place as it would be on an overgrown and scruffy wolf, and his disheveled hair did not advance the image. Still, despite his generally messy appearance, he looked neither ashamed nor beaten, as many of his enterprise were expected to show. Any careful observer would notice a sharpness to his eye and a slyness at his lips - his gaze was only barely touched by the glaze of drink. The cauldrons themselves were strange specimens. Their almost weightless quality belied their size, for he apparently had no trouble pushing them along even though a few were individually larger than himself. There was also a range of colors and textures not commonly found among the typical (and more respectable) merchants, and if nothing else, they were certainly eye-catching. Yellow and orange shined out indiscreetly in the drab setting, and one or two seemed magicked to reflect little crystals of diffracted light. Both funny wares and funny looks followed in his wake as he continued blithely past the shops. It wasn't until he made a sharp turn into Knockturn Alley that most of the curious stares fell away; there were too many oddities and blackmarket exchanges in this particular area for Willy to much stand out. It seemed there was an unspoken consensus even among ministry officials that Knockturn was simply beyond regulation, and to reform it would mean to turn out the whole population that resided there. This Willy appreciated, and he had frequented the place enough to know its twists and turns intimately. As he trotted along, it wasn't long before he heard a greeting in the distance. "Oi! Look'ee mates, it's ol' Honest Willy." Willy looked round and immediately spotted the source - it was difficult not to, when there was a rowdy group waving their hands at him and shouting loudly. They were, admittedly, a suspicious-looking sort of people, and had Willy any different sort of background, he would have indulged in instant distrust. Their clothes were the patchwork type, a conglomeration of whichever fashion they could get, and all about them emanated the strong perfume of cigarettes. That was to say nothing of the wares they touted, which ranged from wands to peculiar creatures; many items looked explicitly illegal. As for their features, most looked sallow and hardened, as though they were perfectly willing to pick a fight - currently, however, they were friendly enough in his presence. The closest, the speaker, offered a wide grin that revealed the origin of his name. Toothless Tommy wasted no time in asking, "Where you been, Willy?" Willy cracked an easy smile in turn as he dragged the pile of cauldrons closer. There were a few good-natured shoulder-pats and back-slapping as he settled down next to Tommy. "Well, you know me. Can't stay in one place too long, you know? Ain't cut out for it. And makes me too easy to track, what with all the stuff I get up to." A smaller man, nearly balding but with a grizzly mustache, nodded at the cauldrons. "So what you got there then? More of 'em bottomless cauldrons, custom made?" There were a few laughs as some of the other craned their necks to see the merchandise. "Naw. What you take me for, Little Lou, a man of no integrity?" said Willy, pretending to be scandalized. He patted the cauldrons fondly. "These are top-notch, they are. Just a lil' on the...light side." He began pulling the cauldrons out and laying them in a semicircle, for better display. His friend reluctantly made room, one pulling aside a clothes-rack of moldy suits. "Light side?" prompted Tommy, when the rather intentional pause became pregnant. "Oh," said Willy, as though reminded, but his voice was decidedly mischievous. "Yeah, light side. Ah. Pewter's awfully heavy, you know, and expensive these days. This here," he said proudly, "is some good ol' fashioned paper cauldrons." These words were met with a few loud guffaws. "But Willy," someone asked incredulously, "how you gonna pass that off? I mean, people'd tell the difference, won't they? Even you can't sell that." Willy shook his head in disappointment. "So little faith, my friends, so little faith. It's enchanted to look real, see. And with a bit more o' magic," he continued, tapping the cauldron, "it gets just as heavy. Nice, yeah?" "Eh, very impressive," said Lou airily, but with a one-sided smile. "But I still don't reckon you can get more'n one or two off your hands. People ain't that dumb." "No, but I am that persuasive. Just sit back'n watch the pro, yeah?" said Willy with a cocky grin, stretching back to perch on a dirty crate for a seat. Reaching into his trousers, he fished out a cigarette case. "So anyone stolen a lighter lately while we wait?"

Review the complete topic (launches new window)