December 20, 2009
Sezja sat quietly at a table, as she had for the last hour or so, with an expression of acute perturbation on her pretty face. The attention of the customers had come and gone, it seemed, for she had refused to speak to anyone thus far. Still, she stared at the door, thinking to herself that this whole procedure was ridiculous and uncalled for. Her supplier, a man specializing in particularly difficult-to-obtain wand cores, had refused to meet her in her own shop. Why? She was only half-human, and therefore he must 'exercise caution'. Her hands grew hot and her eyes glimmered slightly red as she thought of it. She couldn't exactly grow a beak and throw fireballs like Mariska could, but when she was angry, her features certainly did take on a less lovely aspect.
To make it all worse, the man was an hour late. She was beginning to wonder if he would come at all -- but damn it, she needed his delivery! Although only very rarely did a wizard come along whose wand would contain a chimaera scale, she had been told (in the way that wandmakers are told, which is too secret to mention) that there would be need for one. And he had said that he had siren hair, too, and she had never worked with it before. It was an exciting prospect.
Finally, a cloaked and shrouded man entered through the doors, and the dodgy way that his eyes swept around and then met hers and fell to the floor indicated to her that this was her man. She stood up, crossing her arms over her chest and looking severe. Her thick double-breasted tweed coat fell just past her knees, and another god-awful floral pattern continued below it as the end of her full-length skirt, ending in two dainty brown lace-up boots.
His eyes were on her boots as he approached, and as soon as he sat down, the deals started pouring out of his mouth. As a business-woman, being half-Veela had its definite uses. Usually she insisted on paying at least fair market price for her supplies, but this man had thoroughly ticked her off. He slid a small wooden crate toward her (dashed all over with all sorts of markings and warnings) across the table, mumbling about high quality and wiping his sweaty palms on his sleeves. She took his delivery paper, signed it, and then shoved her supplier contract at him. He signed it without further ado. She sat down at last, waving her hand for him to go. As he was just about to do as she said, Sezja asserted, "Zey vill be delivered to my shop from now on."
As the man left, Sezja sagged, thinking that she wanted some ale. But no, she didn't drink. Not since... ugh. That was a fiasco. She gathered her package up under her right arm and stood, pulling her clothing back into order. She had bundled a thick scarf around her neck and pulled all of her hair up and under a magenta fedora that sported a depressed little pink flower on one side that seemed to be sighing and drooping as if in complaint. Her smooth pale hands and face stuck out among the chaos of a badly planned outfit as the only parts of her left visible. For a woman with Veela ancestry, she really had no sense of fashion.