A Dead Man's Party

[Renfield Remington]

Renfield leaned against the large glass window of Madame Malkins Robes For All, hands deep in the pockets of his new pair of incredibly expensive robes - imported from a well established robes company in France that outfitted the Weird Sisters - not that he kept track of such frilly things.

He was collectively trying to ignore Madame Malkin on the other side of the glass, tapping maniacally with the handle of her broom to get his attention on the 'No Loitering' sign. She had come out earlier in the hour, swinging that same broom at his head with the screetch of a she-screwt, but he insisted to himself that there must have been some insect threatening to lodge itself into his flawless, glossy highlighted hair. He had promptly mentioning something about his father obliterating her mudblood-stained hairlipped family members, and she just as promptly had gone back through the door and sulked inside.

Speaking of hair (had he?) he raked his well trimmed - by which is meant well trimmed, buffed, coated and filed - fingertips through his perfectly smooth hair and sent the group of 7th year girls that had been eyeing him for nearly a half hour a merciful smile, twisted in his handsome signature smirk. He had been reserved with these girls swooning over him, only because he was looking his tip-top absolute best today because of the new clothes and the manicure and the (have I yet mentioned it?) stunning striking dashing blonde hair. Girls were difficult creatures, so indecisive - and so mean to each other! Oh, if only he could count the number of cat fights set about by he, Renfield Remington, having to choose one girl over another.

Renfield Remington was kingly, and that was the absolute truth.

The 7th year girls smiled and giggled (and swooned and fainted) then quickly turned away, their giggles growing more obscene as their cheap heels clicked down the street. He suddenly realized how close he had been to actually inviting one of those snaggletoothed harlots to come talk to him! It was close! The family name was so nearly at stake and if he hadn't realized at that very moment just how precisely ugly those girls was, the entire Remington clan could have been stained for ever! For Renfield Remington's amazing intuition, he was a hero.

A reluctant hero he was, however, when he suddenly realized that he had no one to go to lunch with. He frowned, ran a hand through his hair, and pushed off the window as Madame Malkins began to get a second wind of viciousness with her broom, and strutted down the street. Whatever happened to the London belles, he wondered.

((Hello, MH World. Before I get leapt upon - which isn't an attack on anyone, I've certainly been attacked by misinterpretations before - I want to make it clear that Renfield is a Mary Sue (yes, Mary Sue, not Gary Stu) to the point of recklessness. What I mean by this is that while he writes himself as beautiful and brilliant and the bestmanever, that's because he's a cocky imbecile. These characters are hilarious to play and hilarious to RP with, because they tend to take themselves entirely too seriously.

Yes, that was my disclaimer.

Renfield Remington))

[Summer]

Clean cut guy, nasty. was her immediate thought, passing her blue-gray gaze over the blonde man. Martha Jennings had just passed her, along with her usual cronies, giggling and sending furtive glances back at the blonde man. Not unusual, that specific group of girls acted more like third years than the seventh years they were, always giggling like mad, flirting and wearing heavy make up. In her opinion they looked horrible either way.

Turning her gaze back to the man, she tilted her head at an angle. He was blonde, though his hair was shades lighter than her own golden locks. He obviously took pains with his appearance, and was likely high maintenance. Dressed impeccably in expensive-looking robes, and with what she’d managed to glimpse of his face before he started walking away, she had to admit he was handsome.

Correction. He didn’t walk away. He strutted away.

Deciding it couldn’t hurt to be friendly, and see if he was as clean cut as he seemed, she started walking toward him, lengthening her strides to catch up with him. Once at his side she flashed a smile, saying a simple “Hello.” Secretly she wondered what he would think of her appearance, his disdain and disgust for the other girls’ attire had radiated off him, and though she wasn’t dressed or accessorized as absurdly as they had been, she wasn’t dressed like the witch she was.

Instead she was dressed in a purely muggle fashion. With a beige, black, and red patterned plaid skirt that fell to mid thigh. A simple, pressed, and neat white button up blouse. Black Ugs, with knee-high stockings in the same pattern as the skirt. Her long curls were pushed back by a black headband, giving a perfect view of the gold hoops at her ears.


Ooc: Don’t mind the nasty comment ^.<

[Renfield Remington]

((I don't mind as all, as I'm sadistic and splash around in my character's pain. If Renfield was a mind reader, however, he might cry - or curse you - as he's a moody little girl.))

Perking up as a foreign voice -a girl's voice, he determined immediately (after all, what else would it be but a girl? Men sweet talked him nearly as frequently, but they got slightly less enthusiastic responses.) - Renfield turned waiting to behold a wonderful London belle who he could whisk off to the mountains for the winter and bring home to Pops without getting written out of the will and excommunicated from their family tree.

His initial reaction was shock - a muggle?! Here? In Diagon Alley, one of the only safe, uncontaminated place by mudbloods left in all of Europe? He recoiled, his flawless face going pale (well, paler, as he soaked his face in lemon juice each night to keep that royal light skin) and his handsome, aristocratic nose scrunched in disgust. He had a thought to pull away his robes so it may not be dirtied by this walking cancerous growth.

Then, of course, he breathed.

"Hello...?" His eyebrow flicked up practically into his hairline as his expression read: Hello...? Why are you talking to me? Are you going to mug me? "What are you - ?" He glanced wildly from side to side, looking some form of police backup, a giant, even old Madame Malkins would be a sufficient shield. Belatedly realizing he might be capable of cursing the muggle to hell, he reached toward his back pocket for his wand.

Obviously, it was completely lost on Renfield that a wizard would opt to dress in muggle apparel.

[Summer]

She'd expected a snobbish reaction, but she hadn't expected him to freak out, after all it was just clothes. But freak out he did. Going drastically pale, and mind you he already looked white as a ghost, and taking on a look of disgust. His expression clearly read that he had no idea why she would be talking to him.

"What am I?" she repeated, a smile tugging at her lips. It dawned on her why he was looking so harried. He thought she was a muggle, obviously he didn't think a wizard, or witch in her case, would dress in muggle gear. Chocking back a chuckle as his hand reached toward his pocket, likely for his wand, she answered "Why, I'm a witch, of course. What else would I be?"

Shoving her hand into the bag slung across her shoulder, she pulled out her own wand, flicking it toward her clothes. Instantly the muggle attire was replaced by witch’s robes in a pale rose color. She didn’t mind changing, it was obvious her previous outfit was bugging the man out, and she usually didn’t wear muggle clothes. Only on days like today that she chose to venture into muggle London for breakfast and window shopping.

“How ‘bout we start over? I’m Summer Beaudreaux, and you are?” she said, words rolling with her heavy southern accent. She even went so far as to extend a hand to him, manners and politeness had been bred into her, unfortunately.

[Renfield Remington]

"Out of your league." Renfield said as smoothly as his fine robes. Smugness and superiority was what his family bred into him. He ran his fingers through his hair, instantly composing himself when she showed him his blunder - or rather, he would think, hers. While her changed set of clothing certainly was to be preferred, he could immediately pick out the simple material - simple at least, compared to his own.

However, Renfield Remington very rarely let an opportunity to preen in front of a young lady go to waste.

Opting to pass on the handshake, Renfield answered simply, "Renfield Remington - You might have heard of my family, The Remingtons, as one of the wealthiest families in all of Europe." His lips curled into a self indulgent smile. "I haven't heard of your family," he added in a tone that insinuated that this was not a compliment.

"Beaudreaux." He drawled slowly. "You're French?"

[Summer]

"Right.." she mumbled under her breath. Too good t'shake hands with a simpleton she thought derisively, a faint sneer fixing itself on her face as her hand dropped back to her side. No need to be rude just because he's a tad conceited.

"Well, it's alright that you haven't, as I've never heard of your family either." she said, lips stretching into a smirk, before answering "Of French descent, though that was decades ago. Most recently my family is from Blue Bayou, Louisiana."

Clasping her hands together, she rocked back and forth on her heels, studying him through narrowed eyes. Personally, she didn't care how handsome he was, she wasn't one to put up with snobbery, and if he didn't watch his tongue she'd have to put him in his place. It serve him well to be taken down a notch, he had an ego the size of Texas, with an attitude to match.

"I always thought Renfield was more of a girl's name." she said suddenly, a brow arching as she waited for his indignant response.


ooc: I thought you might like to use this avatar, a'cos your character reminds me oh-so-much of dear Draco, and a'cos you need an avvie. tinypic.com/i27itl.jpg

[Renfield Remington]

"And I always thought that girls had one redeeming physical feature to balance out their fat stomachs and their crooked noses." He paused to sneer. "You, Beaudreaux, are a walking contradiction."

He was a bit sensitive about his name - actually, he was a bit sensitive about just about anything, but people learned quickly that insulting him would result in worms playing cards on their snout. He was also found of putting engorged spiders in people's beds, eggs in their socks, and any other indirect revenge. And the direct revenge hadn't been too bad, either, though it was the cause of a heap more of detentions. He watched the girl thoughtfully - not look at, or stare, of glance - just watched. He wondered what she'd look like with gillyweed growing out of her scalp instead of hair.

"You're from the States?" He asked after a moment, pretending like his ego hadn't just been swiped at. He ran his fingertips over his hair in thought. "You just keep racking up the points, don't you? You're a muggle loving, cheeky girl from America. Yikes. You should have lied and told me you were French, or part veela, or were an heir to some great fortune. Makes for better first impressions." He looked down the street and admitted that it wasn't exactly crawling with women, and this Summer was pretty enough.

"It's freezing out here, shall we go get something warm? Cocoa, I guess?" He asked her, his eyebrows quirking up in mild invitation. It didn't occur to him that vicious mood swings were unattractive.

((note: I am from the States and am typically patriotic. Just so this is clear.

Thanks for the avatar! Shall put it on immediately. My profile was looking rather bare. I asked for one in the Graphics thread, but no one's responded as of yet. This will do just great.))

[Summer]

She smiled at him, much the way an adult would smile at an irate child, ignoring his comments. If she could read minds she’d likely have clobbered him over the head with her bag, then she’d have done what he was contemplating, turned his hair into gillyweed. No doubt he’d throw a hissy fit over that.

“Why would I lie about being from the states? I love my home. And besides, despite what your inflated ego might tell you, not all girls care what you think of ‘em” she stated. This time she wasn’t trying to insult him, but she wasn’t going to let him think she gave a rats a$$ what he thought of her.

“And who’s to say I’m not rich.. You never know, I just might be as rich, if not more so, than you.” she added with a shrug. Her mind was on her grandfather, who was in fact rich, being that he owned a large amount of land in Louisiana. And muggles were crazy for his land, paying him tons of money, which was later converted to wizard gold, all because there’s a lot of oil to be found there. His money, along with their ancestral home, Bleu Soleil, would be passed on to her father on his death, and then to her.

Taking a moment to consider his invitation, she mentally scowled, And they say women have weird mood swings. Nodding her head, she said “Cocoa sounds nice, let’s go then.”


ooc: Yes, the avatar makers seem to be ignoring that thread.. Glad to have been of service.

[Renfield Remington]

Renfield shrugged mildly at the girls words and turned to lead the way down the street at a brisk pace. The air was cold and stinging his face. He wondered for a few moments why he always heard that term from women - inflated ego. What a preposterous notion. The words strung together made it sound like he had once had a perfectly typically sized ego, that only recently blew up to epic proportions.

He glanced back at the girl. "There's a difference between being well off and being heir to a great fortune," He told her plainly. "But if you're so insistent on your worth...I come of age in two years on my birthday. Sooner, if my father decides to croak before then." He glanced forward again to make sure if he wasn't tilted and walking into the street.

He was leading Summer to the Leaky Cauldron, which was on the far end of the road. Well, it wasn't really in Diagon Alley at all, but on Charing Cross Road to serve as a crossroads between the Muggle and Wizarding world. The Leaky Cauldron made Renfield a little nervous, with muggles on the other side of the door, but the only people he could think of that sold cocoa were street peddlers, and you never know what they spike their drinks with.

"Of course, the downside is having to find a wife probably within six months of graduating and having to take advanced Potions for the next two years and the pressure of associating with the right people while I'm here or else risk getting cut out of the agreement - really can put a damper on such a lovely lifestyle as mine." He frowned, but only for a moment. "And what of your wealth?" He lifted an innocent eyebrow.

[Summer]

“And do you hope he, as you so eloquently put it, croaks before then?” she asked, struggling to keep up with his pace. She had to double the length of her strides, something she was accustomed to, due to her short stature. Glancing ahead, she realized he was leading her toward the Leaky Cauldron, a place she frequented often.

Tom, the inn keeper, was always nice to her, and she loved to see the different people crossing from muggle London to Diagon Alley, and back again. Since muggles only saw the abandoned, shabby state of the building, she was never worried about one accidentally entering. And if one did enter, all the more fun in her opinion.

“Yes, I can see how that could put a damper on your lovely lifestyle” she drawled, words heavy with sarcasm. She didn’t buy the innocent look for a moment, but she didn’t see why she should lie about her financial state. Crossing her arms, she kept walking, after a few seconds silence she finally answered.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not the pauper you probably assumed I am. My grandfather owns a great deal of land in the Bayou, land that’s rich in oil.. And, well, muggles pay through their noses to get their hands on that oil. I won’t have to worry about money a day in my life..” she said, shrugging “Not that it matters.. I could live under a bridge for all I care, so long as I’m happy and with those I love.”

Her words were completely true, she didn’t really care about money, the only part of her family’s fortune that meant anything to her was Bleu Soleil, the only home she’d ever known. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the money. It’s made it easier to act on her love of music and the performing arts; guitar, piano, jazz, and ballet lessons.