Evening, 27th February, 1894 — Blott residence, Bartonburg

“Argh,” he muttered to himself, when it became clear all hope was lost. He had been leaning over the fireplace for the last five minutes, stubbornly sprinkling Floo Powder onto the flames and praying for the faintest wisp of green to appear. No such luck. She had probably broken his fireplace’s bloody connection on her way in.

So much for her going home. (Of course she didn’t know anything about planets; she didn’t even know how to use the Floo network.) Nick would have booted her out the front door by now, if the storm hadn’t kept raging – all he could see through the darkened windows now were gusts of swirling snow.

“Don’t touch anything,” he shot out as he glanced back and swore he saw her moving. There were books on most surfaces, and clutter practically everywhere, so there were far too many (precious, personal, or potentially incriminating) things in her reach. And the gall she had to be here, in his space!

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Ivy Sandow

  

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Of all the floo malfunctions in the world, why did she have to fall victim to this one?

Blott could not get the floo restarted. Ivy had been looking rather miserably at him with her arms folded, hoping more than anything that she would be able to escape. But the floo wouldn't start, and the storm raged outside. She couldn't wander away from here.

Ivy took her coat off and held it in her hands. "Oh, I've no interest in touching anything," she said, craning her neck to look around at Blott's stuff.

Then, dismissive: "Do you own a coat rack?"

  

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set by MJ

“Yes, I own a coat rack,” Nick parroted, already vexed. “It’s in the hall,” he said, gesturing passive aggressively to the nearest door. Said coat rack maybe also had a variety of things that were not hats and coats hanging from it, because space was space – and he didn’t often have visitors, anyway, so what did it matter if there was room for their coat? He certainly didn’t – shouldn’t – care what she thought.

“Make yourself at home,” he added snidely. He had no choice but to be snide, here: if he wasn’t, there would only be encroaching despair.

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Ivy made a disdainful face at him, and took off her coat. "I thought I wasn't allowed to touch anything," she replied, equally snide — she opened the door he'd indicated and looked skeptically at the coat rack.

"Do you know what a coat is?" Ivy asked, tucking her coat onto the hanger.

  

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set by MJ

She had him there; his nose wrinkled. But the coat rack and the door handle were forgivable – more in question was what he was supposed to do with her now, given their last (and first) interaction had ended with her pouring champagne on his shoes.

“Do you know what manners are?” he returned, aware that he had not shown any either. And he didn’t especially want her near his coats, but he was more worried about his most valuable editions of books he’d taken with him from Flourish & Blott’s, and his in-progress translations, empty bottles and snuff boxes used as paperweights, and a mass of drunken letters he had scrawled to Marion (a woman who had married someone else fifteen years ago) variously scattered about the place. There was a maid-of-all-work who came around most days, but she had well learned to tidy the rooms he didn’t care about but leave Mr. Blott’s personal affects in their exacting mess.

He cleared his throat, looking forlornly out at the blizzard and then at his unwanted stray, at an utter loss of what was to be done with her. “So... what do you propose we do?”

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Ivy shrugged at him. She was not supposed to have manners; she was poor. And never mind that the working class obviously did have manners, even if some conventions were different — she was not going to point that out, as she also did not like him.

But they were going to have to spend the rest of the night together. Ivy swallowed. She wanted to kick her boots against his floor, but that seemed too rude. "Do you have cards?" she asked, "And wine?"

She could not spend time with Blott sober.

  

“Depends on what you mean to do with it,” Nick said darkly, of the wine. It felt like a risk to offer her up any liquids, asking to see what damage she could do – but perhaps drink was the way to keep her appropriately occupied. It made sense to Nick that any poverty-ridden, working class auror would be a lush.

With a melodramatic grumble about eating him out of house and home, Nick set about summoning a bottle (the cheapest he had, just in case it went to waste) and glasses. “Might be a deck in the left drawer – of the desk, there,” he pointed out – he had surrendered to her getting her grubby hands and shoes all over the place now, so now supposed she might do her own fetching, to earn her keep. He wasn’t trying to woo her with his hosting skills, after all; he poured out the wine (two glasses; his more liberally filled than hers) on the table between them and flopped into a chair to better scrutinise her as she rummaged.

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Ivy opened the deck with a huff, stifling a comment about how she was a guest — she had a boundless impulse to provoke Blott, but had not entirely decided what direction to provoke him in. Beating him at cards had to have options. She squinted at the pieces of paper, quills, and — aha. There they were. Ivy plucked the box of cards up and turned, triumphant, towards her host after she closed the desk drawer.

"You organize like a woodrat," Ivy offered. She set the cards down on the table between them and plucked up her wine glass — of course he was stingy — although she did not take any sips yet.

  

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set by MJ

Nick pulled a face at Miss Sandow’s snarky comment – he fancied there would be more of them to weather until the weather had stopped screwing him over like this. He moved to shuffle the cards, waiting to see what she would know how to play – he visited the casino and the club often enough to be comfortable with most card games (although when gambling he often lost more than he won). But there would be no fortune to win off her, he fancied, so he would have to win for winning’s sake.

Considering it from that angle, Nick topped up her wine to help his chances. “So, are you ever in a good mood?” He quizzed her, as he returned to his shuffling. He answered his own question with a knowing snort.

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"Are you?" she retorted; she tucked her knees up against her chest, not caring whether or not she looked professional. "Whist?" she added. He had to know how to play whist; Ivy was convinced that everyone did. And with the way he was shuffling, he had to at least sort of know his way around a deck of cards.

  

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set by MJ

“Oh, nearly always,” Nick answered, faux-chirpy, just to be facetious, so that she knew she was an exception, a thundercloud to his summer day. (Or an inconvenient blizzard that had blown out the Floo, whatever.)

“Fine,” he agreed, with less bite, on whist. “I’d ask if you wanted to wager the game,” he added, less meaning it than to project confidence or to make another dig at her, he wasn’t sure, “but I suppose ladies don’t gamble. And I don’t know how well the Auror office pays.”

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Ivy wrinkled her nose at Blott. "Surely better than translators are," she shot back; (obviously she did not know either way, but at least her job actually required N.E.W.Ts.) "But sure, no wager - I am a lady, and you probably owe a week's wages to some den of iniquity already.'' He seemed lonely, and lonely men were prone to poor financial choices and debauchery.

(At least, in Ivy's experience. Her hilltop friends may have colored her impressions there.)

  

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set by MJ

That was – probably true, when it came to wages. But translation had never been Nick’s first plan: it was the side-track he’d taken when his life had been shaken off course. Because he was supposed to be married, and supposed to have half of Flourish & Blott’s, and supposed to have his best friend.

And now he had none of everything, hence the general temptation to gamble – change up his chances and his coffers enough to buy some of it back. (All of Flourish & Blott’s, that was. It was too late for anything but the shop.) “I do freelance work as well,” he said, with a sniff (as if that sounded remotely prestigious; it was not his best brag). He finished dealing; turned up trumps (spades) and played a card that followed suit in the trick. “And what would a lady know about dens of iniquity, hm?” Nick shot back, mostly to cover the fact that he was flushed at her perception, or his obvious transparency there. Didn’t he seem like a man who had it together?

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   Ivy Sandow

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Ivy played an appropriate card for the trick, feeling well-pleased with herself for the jibe. "Nothing at all," she said primly, "Except for how to avoid them."

  

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set by MJ