grey spirits [terry]

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

march 2029

All things considered, the black market wasn't exactly the best place to meet someone. Nor was it named particularly well, thought Damian to himself as he swept slowly through the stalls, his dark eyes never lingering for long on one particular craft or another. It was a miracle that this sort of thing had been allowed to go on for so long - Damian was well aware through his sister that the ministry were aware of its existence, but only to a certain extent. The more outward branch, the selling of non-tradable goods, was less of a concern than the murky underbelly few were familiar with. As a Karkaroff, Damian knew the ins and the outs.

After all, the ministry had much more pressing matters to be concerned with. He still hadn't gotten to the bottom of those mysterious deaths within the rankings of the ministries - or how they were connected. He had a good intuition, and his gut told him that something deeper was amiss. But without further information... he couldn't draw any conclusions. Hence, Damian's rather frequent stakeouts at the market.

The market wasn't a good place to meet someone, but it was a good place to listen. To learn more. As he had learned aptly at Cas' knee, Damian made just enough purchases to keep a low profile. Venomous tentacula seeds one day. Visited only frequently enough to not raise brows. Never more than three times in one week. His gaze skated across faces, profiling each of them though rarely ever starting a conversation. Not, at least, until one day in the middle of a grey March.

The woman - though she appeared hardly out of girlhood herself - stood by a magical plants stall, looking nonplussed. Damian watched her for a long moment before she moved on. But then he noticed her drift over to another stall selling various seeds and other plants. Each stall she stopped at was of a similar vein, and Damian's interest was piqued. He knew the market well, and most merchants sold almost identical wares. Whatever she was searching for had to be rare. He approached silently, glancing at the labelled plants - verbena, fluxweed... nothing different from the other stalls. "I find sometimes that the things you're looking for are in the places you'd least expect them to be," said Damian to the young woman, catching her gaze at last.

Teresa Margarite Poole

[Teresa Margarite Poole]

make a martyr outta me.

march 2029

IF TERRY HAD BEEN ASKED WHERE SHE WOULD likely to spend her weekends as a stiff-backed, brown-nosed pre-graduated, she'd never have said the black market in Knockturn Alley. Having travelled some and explored the vast corners of the healing world, life experience had loosened her definition of 'good and bad' some. Plus, they really did have an exceptional supply of healing salves and rare plants. And, she liked to convince herself that it was all well above board and the Ministry wouldn't allow such a thing to exist without some knowledge of its contents.

Though she had come for the salves, Terry naturally drifted toward the table of magical plant life. A stall table piled with glossy, potted gillyweeds and puffapods draped in nasty protective fencing that glittered dangerously. She admired the preening buds of an infantile Angel's Trumpet, stooping slightly to look the bright pistil and stamen and it seemed to flutter close to her instinctively, drinking in her presence with a greedy shiver. She almost smiled, as most plants didn't realise what they were getting until after they'd had a taste of the magic she exuded for their benefit. It was always a little fun, at first. 

Terry didn't realise she had company until the flowering bud wilted backwards from where it had nearly toppled from its pot to get to her. She straightened with a frown, feeling as if she had been caught doing something wrong. Her hands curled tight in front of her so that she did not appear to be touching anything without buying. When she realised it wasn't the stall keeper, and instead a simple stranger. She relaxed marginally and as his words registered with her in hindsight.

"Oh..." She breathed with a confused little huff of laughter, turning to inspect the stall again before she turned back. "I definitely expect some magical plants at the magical plant stall." She pointed at the sign advertising the Angel's Trumpet and 'exceptional gensus of fluxweed!'. He was tall enough that Terry had to lean back to get a good look at his face. Wearing a friendly and handsome grin that glittered, she didn't think it was entirely warranted since she hadn't a bloody clue who he was. "Are you looking for something...?" She asked as a desperate add-on, worried he thought she worked there. 

DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[DAMIAN ANDREAS KARKAROFF]

In truth, Damian was usually much more meticulous than this. A lingering sense of dread had made him sloppy - and his approach to the young woman teetered precariously into dangerous territory. He was certain that lots of the vendors knew who he was - Damian had the dark glimmer of knowledge only a Karkaroff could master in his eyes. But the vendors changed frequently, and questions were never raised. After all, asking for more information would invite a whole host of unwanted conversation.

Damian managed to maintain a neutral countenance as the woman replied to him evenly. "Only highly experienced specialists tend to frequent this market. Most of these magical plants can be found through more... traditional means," said Damian after a long moment. "For example, I recently saw that Dogweed and Deathcap had started selling gillyweed," he added, glancing down at the stall before her. "But here, what you're looking for is right beneath your nose. Because you know what to ask for."

Saying nothing further, Damian took a half step closer to her, casting his gaze over the products. The shopkeeper paid them no attention, instead tending to a particularly robust shrivelfig. "Have you ever cross bred oleander with dittany? A highly poisonous plant and the most common ingredient in healing potions. A cross between non-magic and magic. Would their effects cancel one another out?" mused Damian. He had long wondered the cause of death of those ministry workers, and a little known poison was a very likely contender. But none of the usual suspects matched. Only a true expert would be able to identify it.

Teresa Margarite Poole