February 10th, 1890 — Elias Grimstone's shop

A week in the dreary and freezing English weather had Jupiter already itching to board the next boat to somewhere mdash; anywhere warmer, back to Venezuela ideally. She missed the heat of the sun on her back as she worked, the easy rapport between the other workers, and, oddly, the constant layer of dirt caked onto her hands. The stright rigidity of England matched its weather perfectly. It was a wonder how she (or anyone, for that matter) laid any claim to happiness here.

If only she had the freedom to leave.

Mars was...well, Jo wasn't quite sure what Mars was. Grieving, obviously. But the twins led such different lives now that it was hard for Jo to relate easily. A pregnant, widowed mother wasn't a role she had any experience with, and only Saturn truly understood the depth's of Jo's love for travel. Still, Jo was bound to her family enough to remain in this cold wasteland of a country. Mars had just lost her husband! Her chosen partner for life. She didn't grasp the romantic aspect of such a partnership, but she had frequent nightmares about losing Saturn. And as such, she would stay for however long Mars required her to, even if her spirit was washed away with every raindrop.

Hogsmeade was a more cheerful locale to visit in Jo's experience. The colder weather turned the miserable rain into fluffy snow - the one aspect of England Jo sometimes missed whilst abroad. The bustling activity on high street tore from the snow's beauty, but she had to get out from the cold. Her dresses, while warm enough for the occasional cool weather in the tropics, were no match for the blistering cold. Another second longer and the blood would be frozen solid in her legs.

Jo hastily stepped into the first shop she came across, not thinking to check what sort it was. Though, standing in the presence of so many brooms, perhaps she ought to have. The nearest pub couldn't be that much further, could it? "Hello?" She called out as she traced the smooth handle of one of the broomsticks. It had been years since she last flew, maybe this visit would be productive after all.

  

Someone was here!

And apparently someone new. Elias craned his neck to see the doorway, and got to his feet when he realised it was a young lady he didn’t recognise. He was rather pleased with himself for having heard the hello and noticing her entrance promptly at all - so pleased that he’d forgotten the importance of first impressions, and also of first things first.

“Mmmfph,” Elias offered in cheery greeting, and then set down the broom to be better able to take the handle of the twig-clippers out of his mouth. (One needed three or four hands when working like this, he’d always thought it. Or floating tools.) Possibly he should have stopped the tail-repair he was wrestling with before trying to greet the customer. “Good day,” he repeated, with a bright smile to accompany it this time, hastily running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “How can I help you?”

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"Hello." Jo smiled at the man as he abandoned his project in the back to come assist her. From the looks of it (the single glance she had anyway of him working) he was good with his hands. Such wasn't a skill Jo generally glossed over, as those who possessed steady hands were generally fantastic at other things.

"What were you working on back there? I didn't mean to tear you from your project..."

  

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Though he didn’t like to judge people on what was ‘usual’, Elias would admit that was rare rather than frequent to have a young woman step in (alone), even rarer when the woman in question was not a professional quidditch player. And Elias couldn’t say he recognised this woman as one of them, unless she was extremely new to the field. Well, until he knew a little more, he wouldn’t presume to hazard a guess as to what she was looking for.

“Oh, not at all,” Elias protested, brushing his hands against himself to rid them of dust, and then brushing off her question. “I was just fixing up a tail,” he said, and then gave her a daft grin to suit the next words out of his mouth. “Not mine, of course. Just a broom that’s taken a bit of a beating,” he explained.

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It took a remarkable amount of restraint, but Jo was able to suppress her knowing smirk. She wasn't aboard a ship or in some improper country — she was in the United Kingsom, where women weren't meant to know why he might've been uncmfortable with his comment.

With one last look towards the backroom, jo turned her attentions back to the man. "Ah." She acknowledged. "Poor broom. I hope its rider was okay."

  

“Bit worse off than the broom for once, but nothing a short stint in the hospital couldn’t cure,” Elias answered with an easy cheerfulness, mind still half on the broom repair.

“I, er, mean -” he added hastily, realising that anyone who had just wandered in was possibly a potential customer, and might not be especially encouraged by hearing about broom crashes that hospitalised people... He did his best to laugh and pretend that had been an exaggeration. “Not to put you off brooms, of course, if you were looking for one.”

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"Oh! Oh, no. I'm not." She admitted with an awkward laugh. The shop had been intended as a brief respite from the frigid weather, after all. "I was a bit turned around and a tad underprepared for the weather." Jo gestured towards her dress. He might not know much about women's fashion, but even the most daft fool could plainly see the material of her dress was not well suited for snow. "The brooms are lovely, though "

  

He smiled genuinely at the compliment towards the brooms - lovely was not necessarily the first word people gave them, but he could hardly complain - but could hardly take offence to her accidental entrance when the weather was... like this, Elias decided, casting a quick glance at the window, its outer ledge fluffed with snow. With this in mind, he looked her up and down - innocently, that was - and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, I suppose you might have been a little... optimistic, for February.” Never mind the impracticalities of women’s dresses in ordinary weather; but with that thin fabric and the lack of layers, she really looked rather more suited to being in the tropics, never mind Hogsmeade.

“And the Three Broomsticks may be a little cosier than here,” Elias said with a vague gesture about the place - there was a slight draft, and he didn’t like fire much near so many brooms - “but you’re very welcome all the same.”

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She laughed. Optimistic was the kind word for foolish, though she wasn't about to insult herself further in front of the handsome man. "A bit, yeah." She laughed again. The bottom hem of her dress was frozen stiff, and Jo was beginning to think her gooseflesh would never go down.

Draft or no, heading back out into the cold in search of the pub seemed demoralizing. Really, she ought to ask to use his floo and just go home, but Jo wasn't quite ready to end the day just yet. "May I see what you were working on?" She asked instead. "I've never seen a broom being made."

  

He tilted his head at her; she was quite mysterious. Still - “Of course,” Elias affirmed, in something like pleasant surprise, and, wiping down his hands on a cloth, he led her back to the worktop where the broom to be repaired lay, stripped of its tail. “Though I warn you, it’s not nearly as thrilling as quidditch,” he said with a grin.

But he would rather she be half-bored to tears here than wander out into the winter air again, at any rate. “Elias, by the way - Elias Grimstone,” he added, supposing that if she had just signed herself up for an unwitting course in the-basics-of-broommaking, that he might as well get her name.

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Quidditch was often times too busy for her to follow completely. The crowd's excitement was easy enough to follow, but all the moving parts was something she couldn't always catch. "I don't mind." She replied with a smile. Working with one's hands was a talent not many had, Jo was more than happy to witness an artist at work. For in many ways it reminded her of her own work.

"Nice to meet you, Elias. I'm Jo Smith." She returned, subconsciously choosing to forego the formalities which accompanied their society.

  

“The pleasure’s all mine.” There was something unusual in her manners, something a little matter-of-fact. Elias, she’d called him, though he was quite certain he had never met a Jo Smith before. Still, if he were perfectly frank he didn’t mind it at all; if he wasn’t being Mr. Grimstone’d perhaps he’d have to fret less about whether he ought to be saying miss or ma’am or whatever else the people of polite society always expected so flawlessly.

He thought that the familiarity might be to blame for lulling him into some sense that they were friends already, because, having ushered her over to the workbench he’d been at and picked up the twig-clippers he’d been using to select and shape the broom-tail, he forgot himself a little. “You said see, I know, but as you’re here -” Elias glanced at her quickly, just to gauge her answer, whether it was worth asking at all. “...Do you think you might lend me a hand, just for a minute?” He gestured at the bundle of twigs that had been tied with string, but did not stay as gathered as they ought without being tightly held; what had he thought a few minutes ago, about needing three or four hands to do this work?

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"Oh! Certainly!" Jo said eagerly as she reached for the bundle of twigs. Hands on work was her specialty, after all. Plus, it wasn't every day she got to help someone make a broom! Hell, before this minute she was rather convinced it was all done magically. What an interesting change to learn that brooms were indeed hand crafted.

She held the bundle tightly whilst remaining perfectly still. Years of working with ancient artifacts further enhancing her ability to not shift and mess with his work. "Like this?" Jo then asked, just to ensure it was the help he needed.

  

He had gauged right, then; for someone not especially interested in buying a broom, she had leapt at the chance to help out. He barely needed to tell her how to help; in a matter of moments, the tail bundle was held in place, and Elias could better judge the twig-lengths as he cut them, and pull out stray sprigs that refused to be streamlined without such a struggle.

“Yes,” Elias affirmed as he worked, although when he took a moment to glance at her properly, head tilted, he had to pause in shaving away at the end of a twig to watch her sitting completely motionless, her shoulders in a perfect line. “Though you’re almost too good at it, you know,” he remarked, lifting an eyebrow in something like bemusement and trying not to chuckle. She could loosen her grasp a little, if she liked. “It’s not that delicate a process.” Undoubtedly Jo Smith - whoever she was - was overqualified for this.

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Jo watched in fascination as he clipped at the twigs. Broom making wasn't something she ever previously thought of, but now understood to be a far more complex process. She shifted her attention between the twigs and the shaft, wondering how much work was needed to make the wood so smooth. Was it only sanding? Or was there some sort of polishing involved as well? And was it all done by hand? Jo's brows furrowed. Perhaps upon her next trip to the book shop she'd pick one up on broom making.

"Oh!" Jo laughed, her grip loosening only slightly. In her line of work a simple movement could be the difference between an amazing discovery and wreckage. "I'm an archaeologist. You get used to being still."

  

She had looked quite thoughtful, or quite absorbed in the process - but yes, as it turned out, she was most definitely overqualified for this. He would never have guessed it, but now that she had said it he wasn’t in the least surprised. Not that he knew a great deal about archaeology. (He might have the concentration for it, and no qualms about getting brilliantly dusty, but he’d also be too clumsy by half.)

“Ah,” Elias said emphatically, “well, that explains it.” It was more than the being still, somehow. “So you’re used to handling far more fragile things than this,” he mused out loud, newly curious, and putting two and two together with a grin. “And to warmer climes, I take it?”

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