Ah, high noon. Occasionally the shop would be full around this time with people on lunch breaks and such, but today only one person is milling about the store and the middle-aged, balding mad doesn’t look like he is going to be buying anything. Amalia stretches, yawns and spins around on her stool so she can lean back and lie half on the counter. She’s tired, she didn’t get much sleep last night, but that’s another story… Amalia sits back up and looks down at the small cradle behind the counter. Yay for sleeping Collin! He’s much easier to deal with this way.

Eva Wexler comes sauntering down the stairs, wearing her corset, but looking rather lazy. “Ami, the girls are asleep upstairs, if you want to put Collin into their crib. They wouldn’t mind the company.” She pauses.” They all seem to sleep better with company, anyhow.” The young woman sighs and rubs her stomach. “I think I’m going to tell him today.” She plops onto a stool and ties up her boots lazily, her blue dress looking rather overly formal in comparison to her haphazardly done hair, and the slight bags under her eyes. “Slow day,” the woman comments, stifling a yawn. “Anyway, I think it’s best that he knows. Best for him, anyway. I could care less.” And she means this. Sort of.

But seriously. What was he going to do with all of it? Having just come from lunch with Thieras, Tommy Fallon is laden with boxes of untouched, packaged sandwiches. What was that man thinking when he’d ordered twenty of the things! ‘No, Tommy, I am starving,’ he’d said. Good Lord. He’d already given three sandwiches out to people in passing on the street when he’d gotten the idea to drop in on Eva. Upon walking through the door, he immediately notices Eva in that damned irresistible corset of hers. Putting his energy towards acting nonchalant, he announces, “Afternoon, ladies,” calmly. “Err, would either of you want a sandwich? They were just made an hour ago, I expect they’re still good.”

Amalia Amithest eyes Eva as she saunters down the stairs. “You’re still wearing that thing?” She says, referring to the corset. “Oh? Collin is fine where he is, I think. I’d hate to sake him. Just got him sleeping not too long ago.” Amalia turns so she can see the child, flips her hair over her shoulder and then leans on the countertop again. As the annoyingly tingly bell above then door rings, Amalia once again spins around in her chair. “‘Allo.” Amalia says with a grin and a nod. “A. . sandwich?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Eva admits, running her hands over the boning, which she can still feel under the fabric of her dress. “Anyway, it makes me feel better. Less… fat.” The young woman sighs, casting a glance to the sleeping infant. So small… her thoughts are about to drift off again when she hears the tinkle of the bell and glances up. “Hullo, Tommy,” she greets the man, and pauses, raising an eyebrow at his question. “Why on earth have you so many boxes?” She isn’t even sure she wants to know, but curiosity gets the best of her.

With a sigh, Tommy resigns himself to explaining. “I’ve just come from lunch with Thieras. He said he was hungry enough to order all of these, but, long story short, he wasn’t. Darn git,” Tommy says, but with a grin. “It’s the last time I treat him to a meal, believe me,” the man nods, walking slowly closer to Eva with a smile. “So,” he iterates softly and with his crooked grin, “I’m left with all of these.” Setting the load down on the counter, he looks at Eva again but, really, tries his best not to stare. To say the least, his feelings for the woman do scare him a little. The last time he’d felt like this… all fluttery at times… things had ended badly for him. Very badly.

Amalia Amithest makes a slight humming noise. “Well, that can’t be too altogether good for too much longer.” Amalia says in a tone that sounds as though she’s been through this a thousand times before. Of course, she is really just stating the obvious and would be highly surprised if Eva didn’t know that, or at least couldn’t guess it from just plain common sense. Amalia grins as she examines the boxes. Interesting! It isn’t every day that someone brings something into Honeydukes, and Ami doesn’t get out too much. “Sandwiches are good.” Yes, indeed.

Eva Wexler grins at Tommy, her eyes twinkling. “That sounds so very like Thieras. He didn’t foot you with the bill, did he?” She winks and stands up, suppressing a slight groan as she glances over all the boxes. “Goodness, you must have enough to feed a small army!” Her eyes are wide as she stares at the array. She plucks out one of the smaller boxes and scoots her stool closer to the counter. “Come sit with me, Tommy,” she beckons him, transfiguring a statue into a stool for him. Ah, much better.

“Sandwiches are good,” he agrees with Amalia happily as he takes a seat on the stool, beside Eva. “The bill was indeed ‘footed’ to me. And, that foot hurt,” he says with a low, somehow empty laugh. “So,” he says, nudging Eva in the side with his index and middle fingers, more for the physical contact than anything, he asks, “how have things been going? Good business?” Tommy mildly reprimands himself internally. Is there nothing you can ask about besides the shoppe’s business? He knows the comfortable to do would be to keep his distance, but in the name of not kidding himself, he really is drawn to Eva.

Amalia Amithest picks a box at random and pulls out a sandwich. Mmm. Ami didn’t realize how hungry she was until someone mentioned food. And it is even real food. Not candy which gives you a wonderful buzz but doesn’t really fill you up at all. Amalia nods to Tommy, her mouth too full of sandwich to say anything.

“It’s going. I’ve been upstairs more often than I’d like. The twins have been fussy lately. I think Elsbethe would know best, really.” Feeling Tommy’s nudge, and glancing at him, Eva finds herself wanting to lean over and give him a kiss. Which she does. On the cheek. She grins at him. “Calm down, Ami won’t bite.” She winks at him and opens the box, trying not to look visibly ill at the sight of the sandwich. Was morning sickness supposed to last this far into the day? She isn’t certain of it. She looks at him curiously, trying to figure out a good time to break the news.

Tommy Fallon knows she’s been upstairs a lot. More than he’d like, too. He’d realized recently that he’d found himself missing her in a moment of solitude, which was a bit of a jolt for him. The same jolts he’d been getting all along, really. Bittersweet, the whole thing. For instance, the need to be near her: a hauntingly familiar feeling. And what her smile did to him? That tight sensation in his chest? Too well-known for his liking. Still, it felt right to him somehow, which is why he was here now. He smirks at the last comment and nods. “I know she won’t,” he assures.

Amalia doesn’t bite? I dunno, at the rate that she is currently inhaling her sandwich, one is left to wonder. Any fingers get in the say and they could disappear. Now that she is finished chewing for a short time, Amalia is able to answer Tommy’s question. “Business has been good.” Amalia nods and motions to the cradle with the sleeping child in it. “I do a lot of afternoon shifts. Elsbethe would know mornings best.”

Eva Wexler takes a labored bite and eats it, swallowing carefully while Amalia speaks. “Mmm,” she agrees, nodding. “I fill in when I can, but the twins have been so restless lately. They love to play with each other, but they’re so social, and since they can’t even scoot yet, there’s no mobility. I’ve got to get Elsbethe to bring Etaina over more often.” She pauses and puts the sandwich down. It’s a vain endeavor, anyway. “But, uh, Tommy, I do have something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Been meaning? She’s only known for several days.

Having been nodding slightly in reply to what was being said, Tommy Fallon now tilts his head to the side and makes eye-contact with Eva. This sounded kind of serious, and she has his full attention to be sure. “Oh. Alright. Sure Eva, you can tell me anything,” he says, confident that he was able to mask the uncertainty in his voice.

“Well,” Eva starts, drawing the word out longer than is absolutely necessary. Inside, she’s freaking out, because she’s not had to tell someone yet of her pregnancy. How will he react? What will it mean? She doesn’t know, and almost tries to think of something else to say. “I’m expecting again.” There, it’s out. She reaches out with her handkercheif and dabs at a spot on his cheek, then looks at him again. Motherly habits are starting to set in, obviously. Her heart races as she watches his face intently.

Tommy Fallon looks at her blankly for a minute as he processes what he’s just heard. His mouth is a straight line for once; not raised into a crooked grin as she dabs it. Expecting. Pregnant? Tommy is not aware of much right now, but if he had been, he’d have known that his very first thought was, ‘but, we’re not married,’ although, without delay, he figures that they weren’t married when they… well… Still, this hadn’t been the original intention.(‘What would mother say? What would Avery say?’) A small flower of fear blossoms in the pit of Tommy‘s stomach, and he looks to Amalia for a fleeting moment as if something she could say could help the situation. Subtly biting his lip, he looks back to Eva. As the reality of it all begins to sink in, he just looks at her. (‘Do I love her?’) He somehow finds some solace in her genuine-seeming gaze, and suddenly gets a bit of a shiver. Of excitement. He could so do this. “Eva, I can so do this,” he stammers, but then shakes his head and revises the statement to, “I mean, it’s fine. We’ll be fine! We–” he stops mid sentence as he abruptly becomes cold as though thrown into a tub of ice water at the realization: “Ah–” he lowers his voice substantially, “it is… my… baby, isn’t it?” he asks, afraid he might have just made a very big fool of himself.

Amalia Amithest watches everything go on from the sidelines as though she is watching a tennis match. Her eyes go back and fourth, back and fourth, back and fourth as she occasionally nibbles on her sandwich. As Tommy looks to her, Amalia shrugs a bit and nibbles on her sandwich some more. “Hopefully, it is only one this time.”

Eva Wexler glances at Amalia, almost ready to die at the comment. Oh, come now, Amalia, a vote of confidence on this one! Eva sighs and looks back at Tommy. “Don’t mind her. I can’t help it if twins run in my family.” She pauses. “Yes, yes, it’s yours.” Well, it’s a small lie. There’s always the possibility that it’s Arnauld’s, but Eva thinks it much more plausible that it is his. She reaches out and takes his hand. “It’s alright. Calm down.” She almost wants to shake him, to make him settle down. He’s acting more nervous than she feels!

Taking a deep breath, Tommy does try and calm down, laughing at what Amalia’s said in the process. “Twins run in my family, too,” is all he can really think of to say, as his mind swims with relief after hearing that it is his baby. To think of it being someone else’s… well, he just wouldn’t think about that right now. And as Eva takes his hand presently, against his better high and masculine judgment, he hangs on for dear life.

Amalia finished up her sandwich and flips her hair over her shoulder. Amalia takes a moment to glance down at Collin and is forced to double-take. Oh, he’s awake! Amalia slides off of her stool, scoops the baby boy up and holds him close. Amalia bounces him a tad as she turns to Eva and motions to the stairs with her head. She’s going to go ahead and take him up before he even has a chance to get fussy. With a smile to Tommy and a wink to Eva Amalia climbs the stairs and disappears.

Even though she feels completely ill, Eva slides off her stool and rests her head on Tommy’s shoulder. Actually… this feels kind of nice. She snuggles up to him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had one set of twins. I can handle it.” She believes this, too. It’s just… kind of nice, leaning there like that. Kind of cozy. Eva? Where have you gone to? When did you get romantic? Her brain seems to be screaming at her, but for once, her emotions are winning, and she’s giving into what feels right.

Tommy Fallon is again struck into blankness as she leans against him. His back goes a little rigid, but not to the point to which she would have likely noticed. Then, sitting there, he realizes his right hand is idly stroking Eva’s hair while his face stares dead-pan ahead of him at nothing in particular. He does love her. But these things needed to be taken one step at a time. They’d just taken one together, and now they’d have to deal with it properly. Blinking slowly, he looks down at her with a smile and hugs her closer with his arm. They should name the baby Eva. Or Evan. “You can handle it,” he repeats with a nod.

It is another riotous night at the Hog’s Head. Crowded with people from all walks of life, the tavern is hopping. There is music from the act up on the stage and the noisy shouts of orders and conversation fill the entire building, the ruckus spilling out onto the street outside. People mill around the open door and those by the bar can see the privileged few make their way up the guarded door behind the bar. Meanwhile, Arnauld has entered the scene and presses palms with not just a few of his clientèle. Truly, the man is quite at home in these surroundings. Passing a moment, he speaks with a graying man and then moves on, openly eying certain people of both genders that catch his eye.

Eva Wexler, in the mood for fun, saunters slowly into the Hog’s Head. She knows Arnauld will be here, and rather is counting on it, as she finds herself hoping for a repeat performance. She is a bit surprised to find how much more crowded it is in the bar, and is pleased. This will make her somewhat less conspicuous in her bright green dress. Though not by much. She grins widely at a few people whose eye she catches and saunters up to the bar, ordering something relatively harmless and taking hold of it while she scans the crowd for Arnauld’s distinctive appearance.

Bobbing through the crowd, Arnauld still wears his top hat even though he’s indoors. Then again, no one here seems to mind and most everyone could apparently care very little for the polished manners that are so often expected. Waggling his brows at one young woman, he smacks her on the rump as she flaunts by. She turns and says something that is lost in the noise, but the man throws his head back and laughs, only bothering to retrieve the hat when he’s done. Sure, it’s a little beaten now, but that doesn’t mean he has to care. Turning toward the bar, he calls out to the tender but stops mid shout as he spots Eva. A decidedly lecherous smile peels his lips back and he heads over in the young woman’s direction, pulling off the hat as he approaches.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Eva attempts to say suavely, though is forced to speak louder than she considers at all suave. It’s wild tonight, and she’s feeling the excitement of everything. “How are you tonight?” she asks him, taking a swig of her drink, her eyes twinkling. She definitely ought to bring Amalia in here when it’s like this, she decides, grinning at a gentleman who brazenly squeezes her fanny as he walks by. Only in a place like this could something so inappropriate be acceptable. And she can’t find it in her to mind.

“Ehhh you do not be touching her when I am here!” Of course, Arnauld‘s ‘jealous’ comment is far too dramatic to be real and there is no vitriol in his statement, his eyes are glittering with amusement and mischief as he calls after the man. He gets no response, but he really expects none. Before he can order, a drink is served and he grabs the small glass, taking the opportunity to press quite close to Eva. “I’m glad you came by. I’ve been missing your company.” Though he was grazing the crowd before, now his attention is on Eva, as if she were the only pretty thing in the entire world. “How are you doing my dear?”

Eva Wexler grins up at him, and scoots closer to him, not the least bit ashamed. “I have been well. Slept for hours after I finally came home. Amalia was properly shocked and pleased.” She chuckles and sips her drink again. “I’ve decided I’m going to bring her here. She needs to have a bit of fun.” A pause. “And, after she told me a sad story about the last time she came in, I decided to refresh her opinion of the place, and make it better.” She laughs joyously, and then leans up and kisses him gently on the lips. Shy? Yeah, right.

Returning tenfold, for he leans down as Eva leans up, setting his drink on the counter without much problem. Arnauld reaches around and hugs her waist, pulling the woman to him. Continues to kiss, a passionate sweet thing rather than ravenous hunger he had shown the previous night. A few catcalls are directed at the couple’s direction but there is so much going on that no one really notices and less even care. Releasing the woman, he stands back up with a satisfied sigh, “It is good to know you are well. I had to have someone open, I was so late getting out of bed.” “You should bring this friend of yours here sometime. I’m sure she’d have a much better time of it now. What happened the last time she was here?” Grabbing the purple drink, he takes a swallow of the liquor as he listens.

Eva Wexler leans against the bar, holding her drink, and ignoring the bartender. “She was loitering, trying to catch the attention of some man, and there were two chatting. She was sure one of them would come around, but not ten minutes later, they left. Together.” She snickers and sips her drink again, then sets it down on the bar. “I do think she was properly horrified, but I’ve assured her that if I don’t procure someone for her to spend some time with by the end of her night, that she needn’t feel obligated to come with me again.” She grins up at the man, who appears to be having a grand old time. The noise and laughter is a wonderful atmosphere, putting her into an even better mood than she had been when she walked in. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. She just knew she felt as if she was walking on clouds.

Eventually, the band is booed off stage and the musicians go scrambling. There’s a chant for “Chantelle!” Women join in as much as the men do with the chanting. Soon enough a burlesque act ensues with a very pretty and very young thing as the star of the spectacle. Arnauld for his part doesn’t seem to even notice the change in atmosphere, the room becoming more charged if that’s even possible. “Is that so, that would be rather disappointing for a young lady interested in only the opposite sex, yes.” Waving his glass high he grins from ear to ear, “We cater to all sorts here, I hope that this friend can finds something more suited to her tastes now that we’re staggering with business.”

Chuckling, Eva‘s gaze is drawn towards the stage. “No, she definitely prefers men.” She pauses. “Who is that up there? She’s very pretty.” She watches with only half interest, as Arnauld‘s presence is very warm, being so close to her. She grins up at him, tossing a stray curl over her shoulder. Once again, she has managed to get her hair to stay in curls, if only for the time being. She finds herself irresistable in them. She runs a finger over the top of his clothes, tracing around his neck and along his shoulders slowly, as if making a mental picture of him. She looks down for a moment, then back up at him, feeling rather smooth as she awaits his answer.

At the woman’s touch, there comes from the man a staggered breathing and he does not answer her query right away. Tipping back the glass, he drinks another mouthful before putting the glass back upon the counter. “Chantelle,” the barely legal girl on the stage gets a quick glance and he swallows tightly. “She is,” “but my gods I love your hair.” Reaching down, Arnauld grabs Eva with some force but not in a dangerous fashion. It is raw passion and he kisses her again, reluctantly letting her go when the moment passes. A finger reaches out and touches the curls and he brushes them behind her ear with a fond expression that is anything but fatherly. “She is a girl I found in Paris. Quite talented, but unfortunately her talents do not lie in magic. Hers is a sad story, but I’m hoping that she can do better here. At least she never has to sleep for money. Or settle on an unhappy marriage.”

Eva Wexler grins at his open affection and slides her arm up around his neck, clearly not finding anything fatherly about him at the moment. “Is she a squib then?” she asks carefully, knowing that a lack of magic can be a touchy subject. She grins up at him, suddenly feeling that all the work tying her hair up at night is worth it, to have a reaction like that from him, or from anyone. She runs her fingers across the back of his neck carefully and looks back up at the stage. “It certainly is a mercy for her, to be sure. After all, either of those would be horrid. Marriage and …” she pauses, “love, ought to be pleasurable, not done out of necessity.” She grins up at him. She is obviously quite glad that she doesn’t /need/ to sleep with him to get something. Though with him, she may have been more inclined to do so.

A single nod is all he manages, and though he speaks Arnauld‘s gaze does not shift away from Eva. “She is a squib; her family was going to match her up with some ass of a wizard so that they could keep their blood pure.” “So she ran away, went out to the streets and I found her. Such a sad little creature I haven’t seen in years.” Tripping his fingers through her tresses, the Frenchman just can’t keep his fingers away. “Indeed, love itself ought to be one of the most pleasurable experiences, preformed not for living desperately, but to enhance to pleasure of being alive. She is happy here, she is popular and liked and she has choices. We, we are lucky, are we not?” Bending down he plants a small kiss on the right-hand corner of Eva’s mouth.

“Yes, I would say so.” She smirks over his shoulder at a rather jealous-looking female. Ah, well, one person’s loss was another’s gain, was it not? She turns her head and presses her lips to his gently. “Don’t know what we did to deserve it, but I figure I’ll do my damndest to enjoy it.” Eva smirks and reaches back, pulling a few pins out of her hair and letting her hair fall down. Not all of it curls as neatly as the front and sides, but there is a definite wave to most of it, thanks to the rags. “I hope she enjoys her time here. Do tell her to drop by Honeydukes. We’d be more than happy to see her there.” She grins at him, her green eyes shining happily.

“I’ll do that. She could always use to know more people.” In the next breath, whatever lingering sadness he had over the mention of the star is gone, “You have such beautiful hair. I adore the curls. You know, there are spells for that sort of thing.” He doesn’t have a keen eye for nothing but Arnauld continues to caress the curls, allowing them to slide between his fingers and fall away before catching up another light handful of them. “Do? We don’t ‘do’ anything to deserve what we get, it is all luck really. The fortunes, whatever you want to call it. They seem to have blessed me with meeting you, so I will take it for the time we have.” Reaching around he grabs Eva by the waist and perches her on a now free stool. For his efforts, he gets a dark stare from a gentleman but the glare is rebuffed with a smile and a waving of his fingers.

“Who was blessed?” Eva teases, giggling girlishly and perching on the stool, and flashing a sweet smile to the gentleman who seems so perturbed. Ah, what unhappiness belongs in such a place on a night like tonight? She’s sure she doesn’t know. She smiles up at him and takes her drink, holding it up to him. “To the time we have together,” she toasts joyfully, before taking a rather large drink. This sends her into a fit of giggles and she rests her forehead against his shoulder momentarily as she half listens to the racket and riot coming from the stage. The audience appears to be enjoying it, as they are closely huddled ’round the pretty young girl. She smiles at him genuinely as she swings her legs a bit on the stool.

There is a second of emotional distance but then the man shakes himself free of whatever concern tried to drag him down. Picking up his own glass, and returns the toast with renewed vigor as he washes it down with the rest of the purple liquid. “Oh yes, of course you were blessed too, I mean look at me. I am Arnauld Ribouet, the toast of Hogsmeade!” Let it not be said that the man is wallflower, but for all his bravado, he nearly always has to perform in such extravagant ways. Leaning in with low laugh, it is evident that the bearded man is feeling the power of his drink as he lands a kiss on Eva’s lips.

As his lips once again collide with hers, she sets her drink down and hugs him around the neck comfortably. There is something about him that she can’t seem to resist. Perhaps it his free-spirited attitude. Or his nonchalance. It doesn’t matter, really, Eva finds as she feels herself melting inside, returning the kiss with fervor. A giggle escapes her throat as they are bumped into rather rudely by a man in quest of something or someone beyond them, and paying attention to nothing else.

“You m’dear I can trust.” A murmured whisper brushes against her lips, and Arnauld lifts the woman off the chair again and carries her to the guarded doorway. The wizards on guard have watched the approach and the door is opened by the time he reaches them. There is noise from up the stairs, clearly another section of the bar that is unseen by most patrons. “But I must ask you not to speak of my, extra areas of business.” Up the stairs they depart. The top floor is cast in long shadows by flickering magical lights. It is close up here and quiet personal. Once they are on solid ground, he puts her down. There is a different quality of music here, it has a flavor of India and there are small congregations of men and women, some openly having relations while others smoke from hookas and other odd equipment.

Eva Wexler‘s eyebrows raise as she takes in the atmosphere. It is less noisy here, though the energy is certainly no less. It seems to course through her veins and excite her all the more. She slips her hand into his, and looks around obviously, taking everything in. She’s never seen or even imagined anything quite like this. She grins up at him. “What is this place?” she asks him in a quiet voice, so as not to disturb anyone from their doings. Not that she probably could, anyway. Her eyes take in his appearance in the different lighting, and find yet another appreciation for his features.

“It is a secret that I am willing to share with you.” Grasping Eva’s hand, Arnauld leads her to the back, where there is a thick velvet curtain. Ushering her inside, it is calmer in here than the main room. There is also no one else here. A mellow blue light drapes the room with faux moonlight and it is here that the Frenchman seems to grow younger, even though in reality he does not. Thick pillows are scattered on the floor, a low table holds a pitcher of water and several crystal glasses on a tray. There is wealth in this room, the sumptuous luxury of a man with more than he’s showing to the world below. “The right people know where to come. It is here that that the real pleasures are to be tried. I have a wide clientele that needs their privacy, but I trust you are not one to reveal these findings to the public. People need a release, an escape, somewhere to get rid of the world out *there*,” flashing a hand in the direction of the street outside, “and so I give them what they want.”

It takes some time for Eva to take all of the aspects of this newfound world, but she seems to be quite willing to learn. “I am honored that you trust me with this,” She tells him, turning to him after a short glance out the window. The room holds an ambience that plays on her emotions and her skin, seeming to make her toes curl and her skin hum with beauty. She feels beautiful in this room. She twirls around, her hair spinning behind her, then leans in close to him, on her tiptoes, her lips hovering near to his.

“You could be a Rajah’s wife, with your beauty. But you could never be happy living like that, you have far too much spirit. It’s what I like about you.” Lowering himself into one of the cushions, Arnauld pours the water out into two glasses. Leaning back, he reaches over to hand Eva one. “Only water. I thought the calm might be good after all the bodies downstairs.” “Though of course,” he drifts off, the suggestion left standing in silence as his fingers touch hers.

Eva Wexler lowers herself down next to him, and takes her water. Perhaps a bit of refreshment first. She smiles and feels tingles run up her spine as his fingers brush hers ever so gently. “That sounds like a marvellous idea,” she agrees, her eyes twinkling with mischeif and happiness, and perhaps a small twinge of a love-like affection. She sips her water, then sets it down, leaning down to kiss him softly. The atmosphere was perfect, the evening unspoiled. She couldn’t ask for more out of life than at that moment.