18 December 1893 — Magical London Park
Trystan Selwyn

Well, she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. The single horse and buggy that her new clients had hired for her was certainly a luxury Avery wouldn’t ever say no to, even if it was a bit of a…rickety piece of construction. Even though the last time she’d commanded one had been long ago, Avery still remembered the buggy she had driven was sturdy. Walking unfortunately hadn’t been the most viable option, and Avery didn’t trust her apparition skills quite yet; the rickety buggy would have to do.

With a map in one hand and the reins in the other, Avery occasionally peered up from beneath the rim of her hat to attempt to navigate the road - on the wrong side. Heaven help her, being suddenly thrust into directing traffic with a horse and cart was not one of the things she’d expected she would have to do, at least not so soon. After much cursing under her breath, the fork in the road ahead of her matched the one she was able to discern on her map. Just over the bridge and then it would be another five minutes until she arrived. “C’mon, ol’ girl.” She muttered - partially to herself, partially to the horse - before giving the reins a light snap and encouraging the horse to walk on.

It helped that the animal seemed to know what side of the road to be on. Avery had made so many close calls, she could tell the poor mare was getting irritated. Really, it was hardly as if she could blame her, poor girl. In an attempt to make peace, Avery relaxed her grip and reached back to grab the letter the clients had sent her.

In that split second of time, there was a sharp whinny behind her, accompanied by the sound of rattling and someone shouting out a warning. It was all too late: the cart had been side-swiped and - in its thoroughly dilapidated state - crumpled with ease. It pitched to the left and crashed up against the railing of the bridge; with no boundary to keep her in the cart, Avery found herself unmistakably and quite unwillingly airborne. In the time it took her to register what happened, water from the lake below had already rushed up to meet her.

The mouth full of  water was nothing compared to the sharp shock of the freezing water that closed over her head; as if someone had just embedded a thousand needles into her flesh. There was no up or down, just the feeling of suspension. Avery shut her eyes against the sting of cold water and focused on pushing herself towards what was hopefully the surface. Breaking through the seal of water was just as cruel as being submerged. She was instantly at the wind’s mercy and Avery let out a strangled half-gasp, half-cough as she treaded water. A shout from her right drew her attention to the shoreline.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

This driver was worse than the ones on the Knight Bus. He’d gotten a magical cab, and they had woven in and out of muggle London at a frenetic pace. In a magical park, the hansom had sped up still further. Trystan hadn’t known what was happening until there was a cry from the driver outside, and he hit the roof to see them stop.

Sliding out of the cab, he swiftly gleaned what had happened – for Merlin’s sake, if this driver had just made him complicit to a hit and run accident, he would... Leaving the driver to his muttering – it had been the other driver’s fault, apparently – Trystan came around down to the water’s side, surveying the broken-off pieces of cart, and there –

A woman had just surfaced in the lake. He couldn’t tell whether she knew how to swim or was too much in shock, but thankfully this was a magical area, and easy to take action; without hesitation, Trystan waded in to his knees, calling to her to get her attention this way, and cast Carpe Retractum to start pulling her towards him.

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Someone had not only appeared on the shoreline but had gone into the lake a considerable amount to catch her attention. She lifted a hand to signal she’d seen him before seeing a flash of light strike out in her direction. Recognizing the spell (she’d had to use it on many a runaway animal), Avery reached out towards it as quickly as she could to attach herself to the beam of light. She allowed herself to relax and let the spell pull her towards the water, doing her best to not swallow more mouthfuls of water on the way there.

By now, the chill had settled deep into her bones and Avery could feel her muscles spasming, thanking the Lord she didn’t have to try and swim back by herself. An involuntary shiver shot up her spine and she inhaled sharply. Water surging down her throat, Avery coughed, unable to control her movements to stop her knees from scraping the bed of the lake as she got into more shallow water. “T-t-thank you,” she managed to choke out as she got within earshot of the man on the shore. She could hardly lift her free hand to brush the hair out of her face so she might be able to see her rescuer better.

Through her deep shuddering breaths, a flash of pale color caught her eye, and she muttered out a curse as she saw her hair began to flicker between its dark blonde to a pale silver and back. The cold had always been her weakness when it came to controlling her abilities; something she hadn’t considered when she decided to uproot her entire life and move across an entire ocean. She wasn't sure what was worse - being in the water, or half out of it as even the slightest breeze felt like a block of ice had been pressed to her bare skin.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

It was not the time of year to go swimming, inadvertently or otherwise – even the cold water at his shins had plunged him into a new state of awareness, trying to concentrate as he was on reeling her in the more rapidly. It seemed to be working as intended; she was nearing the bank, thankfully, so he didn’t need to wade in any deeper. (Not that Trystan would have minded playing the hero. Park lakes were still far lower stakes than he’d once been used to, certainly. He couldn’t even properly show off here.)

She, however, was a more interesting sight close up. It wasn’t even subtle, the way her hair was changing shades. At first he wondered whether the water might have caused a charm to malfunction – concealment and disguise was his speciality, after all – but the way it kept changing, stuttering as she spluttered from the icy water, was... interesting.

First things first, though – he could not let himself merely be a slave to his intrigue. “No need. Come on, let’s get you out of there,” he said warmly, leaning forwards to pull her from her knees. Curling an arm around her back, he tried to guide her up and out of the water with him by letting her lean on him, if she would.

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She couldn’t stop herself from shaking. The increasing wind only made the sensation worse as if a blade was skimming across the top layer of her flesh, and she held herself wanting to cave in. But instead a pair of hands lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Avery had to keep herself from immediately collapsing back into the water. If she thought being only partially at mercy to the wind with her lower half in the water was miserable, being hauled completely ashore where the wind could buffet against her as much as it pleased only increased her torment by tenfold. “B-b-but your clothes,” she protested weakly, despite the fact that she had automatically leaned into him; not only did heat seem to radiate off of him, but the sheer size of the man did much to block the wind from getting to her.

Heading further ashore, it seemed as her legs had started to lose feeling, and she tried to keep her balance stumbling over the rocks. Her hair, now almost completely silver, hung in tendrils like icicles having been completely torn from their pins as she had hit the water. “Beg pardon,” Avery managed to stutter out as her foot found his. She winced. That would leave another water mark she’d likely have to pay to get out.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

“Oh, they’ll dry,” Trystan said easily, mostly unperturbed by the patches of cold damp that were appearing through contact with her. A little body heat would do as much for her as magic, he fancied, so he didn’t pull back yet, not as they traipsed out of the lake and she stepped on his foot to thank him.

“Fair payment for what my cab driver just put you through, I should say,” Trystan admitted with a wry twist of the mouth; it felt forward to do so to a stranger, but he rubbed his hands briefly up and down her arms, in case she was still in shock from her dip in the December water. There, that was explanation enough for his intervention – he was, if not the guilty party, then implicated at least. He surveyed her up and down, checking to see if she was injured – she seemed shivering and unsteady, but hopefully nothing worse than that, and – well, the silver hair was quite something. Trystan eyed it, but held his tongue still.

“I hope you didn’t have somewhere important to be.” In this half-frozen state, and with the cart she’d been driving in that one up on the bridge.

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Given that he’d just waded into the frozen lake to help fish her out, Avery figured it wasn’t too much of a stretch of hope to realize that he wouldn’t mind getting more watermarks on his clothes. His remark about his cab driver helped put things into perspective for her, though. She had wondered what in God’s name had happened and, under normal circumstances, would have been furious about the carelessness, but at present she was more focused on maintaining body heat than anything else. In all the obstacles she’d experienced in life, she’d never been thrown from a cab off a bridge before; perhaps that was another reason for her lack of waspish response.

Truthfully she couldn’t muster up any indignation at the moment either. She was mostly grateful she’d survived and been brought out immediately. “No where that can’t be rescheduled,” she replied, as her teeth chattered. Where in the world had her wand gone off to? “I imagine they’d understand given the circumstances.”

It was a perk given her profession. People were almost as enamored with their pets as they were with their own children. Once Avery established her competence with them and their animals, loyalty was an easy thing to be obtained. With that, came patience when an event - like being ejected from the seat of a cab and subsequently thrown into a nearby frozen lake - happened to occur. “You don’t happen to know any good warmin’ charms do you?” With an apologetic expression, she hesitantly looked up at the man in front of her. The white flutter around her eyes told her that her eyelashes had also turned a silvery-white; with her luck she’d have blue lips, and - if her eyes followed suit - she would be staring at him with a silvery gaze that had sent Marigold hiding under the bed last week.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

Trystan laughed lightly at that. “I’m certain they will. All the same, I can give you a lift wherever you’re headed, if you like.” Moreso, the cab waiting up there for him could do – it was very much the least they could do.

Mercifully, she didn’t sound too aggrieved by that detail – but then, she also looked near freezing to death, so perhaps her annoyance would renew when she regained her body warmth. Best she got warm, and soon. “You know, I do,” Trystan returned conversationally, passing his wand over her, slowly, from head to toe. “Do you know you’ve gone all silver and blue?”

Even down to her eyes, which had turned an unearthly white. That simply couldn’t be from the cold water; she’d have frozen to death before looking like this, like an ice sculpture come to life.

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“I’d be much obliged,” Both for the lift and for his help casting a few warming charms; they were the least he could do. Meeting his gaze Avery caught the look in his eyes as he waved his wand over her. To his credit, he didn’t looked alarmed, more interested than anything. Warmth immediately started to trickle through her, first starting in her core and then slowly spreading to her extremities. Cupping her hands together in front of her, she breathed into them, hoping to speed up the process. As she did so, he pointed out the changes in her appearance. Without hesitation she nodded, still waiting for the warming charms to help. They would only do so much - the rest would need to be with the aid of a potion and some dry clothes.

“Yes,” she said between breaths, before looking back up at the bridge. Her carpet bag - she’d stored her wand in there. If memory served her correctly, it hadn’t been launched into the water with her so it must be somewhere scattered on the pavement. Giving herself a shake, she tried to concentrate on returning her features to their natural state. “I haven’t really mastered controlling my abilities when I’m cold.” She explained, reaching up to grasp his arm and pull herself to her feet. She gave herself another shake; to no avail, as she saw her hair still remained white.

“I’m a metamorphmagus, if that needed more explainin’ to you or not.” Rubbing her palms together, Avery had finally managed to regain feeling in her fingers again. She flexed them experimentally a few times before looking down and assessing the state of her clothes. A good wash and dry by the fire should restore them to good sorts; using his arm for balance, she leaned to the side and shook her foot. The feeling of water sloshing around in her boot made her nose scrunch. What a horrid feeling. She was used to dust and mud and rain but getting fully drenched was among one of the last things she would volunteer herself up for.

“Would you be so kind as to help me back up so I can get to my bag?” She asked, already taking a few steps in that direction. And perhaps so I could scold also the driver. The return of feeling in her arms and legs seemed to have also brought back the realization she could have been seriously injured if she'd landed on a fully frozen lake.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

She was understandably too preoccupied by her own still-shivering state to think of much else, but the gears of Trystan’s mind were turning in interest now, watching her. Professional interest, mostly – he was envious of any metamorphmagus’ abilities, and equally interested in learning if he could spot the signs of one. The cold had had a clear effect on her abilities; though she confirmed it in words too.

But he nodded along anyway, suitably impressed. “That was my guess,” he admitted, but held onto the other questions he had for her, because – first things first, best to get her out of the cold. “My pleasure,” he said, already beginning to escort her back up to the bridge. He only let her go to retrieve her bag for her, and handed it over to her before he went over to have a (stern) word with the driver. From there, he waited, leaning by the cab door.

In Trystan’s experience (well, some of his experience), respectable lone women did not usually tend to get into cabs with strangers, so he opened the door but did not yet get in. “It’s yours, if you like,” he offered, because at least he was dry, at least above his calves (he paused to cast a drying spell at his ankles), so he could afford to be chivalrous. “I can wait and get another.”

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“Gold star for you,” Avery muttered, giving herself a shake as the movement up the hill helped to get her muscles loosened. “You must be an investigator or somethin’ - or d’you always say ‘I knew that’ after someone hands an answer to you on a silver platter?” The longer she stayed cold, the more she could feel annoyance bubble in her chest at the entire ordeal this man seemed to have thrown at her.

She could have gotten seriously injured; and then what would have happened to Marigold? He, of course, didn’t know about her daughter and she sure as fuck wasn’t going to open with that piece of information, but her growing agitation still latched onto it like a snake after prey.

She accepted her bag with a tight smile and hastily whipped out her wand to cast the appropriate spells to return her appearance to rights. Then she cast a few warming charms to speed the process up. Shaking her again she felt her features return to normal. She stared at the man as he offered for her to take his cab. “If you think I’m gettin’ into a cab with that homicidal driver that nearly killed me, you’re fuc - you’re insane.” She said flatly, brushing past her near slip of the tongue as she reached down to grasp the bag’s handles. She welcomed the sensation of its weight; it seemed to help ground her.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

She must be over the worst of the freezing water effects’ now, because her tongue seemed to be getting sharper as she came to her senses – as she thawed, her manners were growing icier. More was the pity; Trystan really hadn’t minded her earlier suppleness, agreeably leaning into him as he’d gotten her out of the lake.

But all her apologies for the inconvenience had dried up now as her pale features were forcibly righted to something more natural, a warmer brown.

Fortunately, Trystan had more than enough experience of bitter marital sniping to be all but impervious to her annoyance. He only laughed easily at her sardonic investigator comment – he wouldn’t mention that she was probably closer than she even thought, with that. But he did suppress a smile of amused surprise when anger seemed to get the better of her, and slip through in her tone, and now that she was no longer stammering from the cold, the drawl of her accent was becoming more and more pronounced.

Trystan was – intrigued. (He doubted she would entertain any of his questions right now, but he was intrigued.)

“Oh, but I’m sure you could make him see the error of his ways. But fair enough,” Trystan remarked, folding his arms nonchalantly. “Do you live near here? I wouldn’t want you to walk and freeze to death on your way.” She didn’t quite seem dressed for the weather, and she’d surely make herself ill by trying, warming spells or no. Was she recovered enough to apparate herself somewhere familiar and indoors and warm? (He would offer, but he had the sense she would be too proud to take him up on it.)

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Avery’s eyes narrowed at him, disregarding whatever compliment he’d just thrown her way. He seemed extremely unperturbed at her sudden (or not so sudden) harshness; she’d have supposed a man like him - dressed as he was, well-groomed as he seemed - wouldn’t take too kindly to a bit of lip from someone clearly below his station. Then again, she’d met men who would have merely shrugged and been on their merry way instead of helping her out of the water. There was more that Avery thought she wanted to think over, but now certainly wasn’t the time.

He did, however inadvertently, bring up her next predicament: transportation. That death trap of a cart wouldn’t even stand being put back together by magic. It’d likely fall apart again and Avery wasn’t willing to try her luck again. She sighed pursing her lips and looking at the cart’s horse who had miraculously stayed on the bridge. Two different paths started to unfold themselves in front of her and Avery didn’t like either of them: She could take this man up on whatever other solution he might offer (if he was going to), or risk riding bareback on a horse she barely knew in soaking wet clothes (the drying spells were taking their sweet time today). She hated both options, but seeing as this man had thus far rescued her once today, that was the path she should take. The warming charms would only last so long.

“I conveniently picked an extremely hard-to-access village to move into. Besides,” She realized with a grimace as the horse appeared over her shoulder with a huff of warm air against her cheek. “I’ll need to return the horse before I think about trying to find a way home.” Fuck. Her free hand drifted up to take the reins resting on the horse’s back. She just wanted to be home and dry, but God apparently had different plans for her today.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

His eyebrow rose at the remark about her village – he was rather intrigued to know where she meant by that, too, but he had already resolved not to try her patience with any questions.

He had set his ambitions low, for the time being. She was a metamorphmagus, and mostly a mystery; he wanted to know more about her; he would settle, today, for learning her name.

“Well, I could apparate you to The Leaky Cauldron or somewhere else nearby,” Trystan suggested, “where you can dry off or change – and I can come back for the horse.” He could pay the cab driver to wait with it for a moment more, and he could technically pay someone else for the errand of returning the horse – though he liked horses well enough himself, and wouldn’t mind it himself.

(To be honest, he would do almost anything to avoid his responsibilities at home.)

He sidestepped her nonchalantly, to scratch at the horse’s neck. It had been rather patient with them, too, given its own near-miss and the terrible weather. “Only if you need the help, of course,” Trystan added. He would leave it to her, and – if she liked – leave her be.

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Already halfway through listening to his suggestion and she was ready to scream. She was still damp, cold, had a horse that wasn’t hers, and just wanted to be home already. Giving a huff of resignation, Avery closed her eyes. “Fine,” she relented, her accent thickening as her hand came up to motion for him to stop talking. “Fine, as long as that works for you and I’m not keepin’ you from anything this afternoon.” The last thing she needed was for whoever was his next appointment to be miffed at her too. And his devil-may-care attitude was getting on her nerves for some inexplicable reason. He’d just fished her out of the fuckin’ lake and he was acting as if it was just another Tuesday. He didn’t even have to bribe the damn horse with any treats for it to cozy up to him!

“The Leaky Cauldron would be as good as any I suppose.”

Avery turned away to leave him with his new friend and stooped to pick up the rest of her things. Her hat, mercifully had survived the fall, and was only merely damp. Shoving it on top of her head, she turned back to face her rescuer. “And I guess I should get your name before I let you apparate me.” She narrowed her eyes again as if to warn him that apparating her anywhere else except the Cauldron would result in severe bodily harm.

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avery speaks with a mixed south appalachian drawl

It was ostensibly his inconvenience, but really he could tell it was her surrender: if Trystan had wagered on it, he still wasn’t sure she would have accepted the help at wandpoint. She was annoyed – he might be half the reason she was annoyed (he had to allow that some of it from the inadvertent lake dumping; he could not take all the credit of vexing her) – but she was, fortunately, fed up enough to give in.

(If she had been a different kind of person, the prospect of a warm pub like the Leaky Cauldron might have been an invitation – to stop for a while and pay a few sickles for a private room, sit and have a drink and get to know her – but she was not quite the shopgirl who liked to be flattered, or the waitress in need of a saviour that evening. The horse was a trusting creature, friendly even before he conjured a sugar cube for it – but she was a thorny thing, too wary to let him in. He would have to surrender something, whether he wanted to or not.)

So. “Trystan Selwyn,” he said easily, with a lilt of look me up, if you don’t believe me. “Of Selwyn Manor, in Wales.” She could find him, if she liked. Report him, if he had done something uncourteous. He highly doubted he would hear anything from her again. Nevertheless, he extended his hand, waiting to apparate her to the Cauldron. “I suppose I haven’t done enough to learn yours?” Trystan guessed.

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   Avery Davenport

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