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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 21, 2011 0:06:20 GMT -5
Two weeks. She'd been here two weeks and she was as lost as the day she arrived. This was hopeless. How could someone such as herself run a Qudditch Supply shop? She couldn't even remember the names of all the balls and their positions. Merlin, her eleven year old sister could run this place better than she could. Genevieve had no idea how she would manage this place without her brothers. They were both fifteen and fourteen respectively but they knew a bit about Qudditch. Well, Alexandre did. Seb could care less but he knew brooms. But she couldn't expect them to run the shop for her. They were still kids and shouldn't spend all of their time working.
Which was why Gen was in the shop alone. The young man who had once been her great uncle's broom designer apprentice had the day off. All she had to do was handle customers questions and ring them up. Shouldn't be too difficult right? Wrong. The first customer hadn't been happy that she had no idea if she had any aerodynamic quaffles in stock. It didn't help that she sent an entire cage full of quafles onto his head when she had summoned them.
A bit discouraged, Gen was trying to fix a display that had some how fallen apart. The five foot six fashionista stretched high, not wanting to use her wand to bring it lower. She nearly got it when the thin heel of her purple satin Witch'nheels snapped off sending her off balance. She landed on her bottom on the dusty floor. She groaned as she sat there on the ground not wanting to get up. She wasn't hurt, just upset.
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Post by Theo Bowre on Jul 21, 2011 0:52:51 GMT -5
Dear Theo:
Thanks for your business. We've received your custom ride from NIMBUS but require your attendance at the shop for a proper fitting. Please report to Quality at your earliest convenience. We can have it ready for your match against the Netherlands.
G. Stahl, Broommaster's Apprentice
The owl rested in Theo's jeans pocket as he bounced up the stairs to Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. The beater was relieved to receive word on his new broom. It had been a week since the attack on Hogsmeade (and the demise of his Nyghtstalker 351) and he felt rather naked not having a ride to call his own. He was training on a loaner from the Welsh National Team but a broom was as private as a wand: you just didn't bond with any chunk of wood and bristles. It had to have heart.
Opening the door to the cramped supplies shop, Theo was rather shocked to see a young woman sitting in the immediate distance on the floor. She appeared to be scowling at her shoe and above her a quaffle display teetered dangerously. Theo came to a halt.
"Oy, love. Are you okay? Here, let me help you- " A squeak-turned-groan interrupted the beater mid-sentence and he looked up to see that the quaffles were no longer at bay. The entire cage pitched violently and overturned in the air, dropping its contents to gravity. Theo's large arms swooped under the woman; he managed to get her a few feet right of the drop zone, though they both ended up on the floor. "Merlin love them. Quaffles've never like being caged. Are you okay?" Theo breathed heavily, finding that his visit to Quality was much more exciting than a broom fitting. He smiled at the sight of the equipment strewn all over the floor.
"I better clean this up for Flynnie, Merlin rest him." Theo rose to his feet, extending a hand to help the fallen lass up. "Have you been helped? Can I shout for someone? Sometimes they're caught in the back and don't hear people enter."
Boon kissed his hand and lovingly tapped a picture of the store's deceased owner, which rested respectfully on the wall by the door. He then began collecting the stray quaffles and rebuilding their display case.
"Gunther? There's a lady at the counter, boyo."
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 21, 2011 16:16:52 GMT -5
Just when she thought this day couldn't get any worse, someone had to walk in and witness her embarrassment. Of course it had to be a man, because her shame could not be complete without a charmingly handsome male. It wouldn't do to have fate cheat the moment now would it? Resisting the urge to pout like her six year old sister, Genevieve took a calming breath. It took a bit but her mask of calm, but slightly frustrated reserve descended upon her. This man did nothing to her and thus did not deserve her ire. The real culprit for this was her great uncle. Really, couldn't he have found someone more suitable to give the shop to? she didn't even own suitable clothes to work in! Let alone know anything about what she was supposed to be doing.
"Oy, love. Are you okay? Here, let me help you- "
With a small, polite smile on her lips, she was about to refuse his offer but a strange squeak and a groan stalled her words. Suddenly strong arms were latched onto hers, hauling her away.
"Unhand me!" She proclaimed just as hundreds of quaffles thundered down on the ground where she had been resting. Her struggles and the rush of movement had toppled them both onto the ground. A grunt of unladylike pain escaped her. What was the man made out of gold? Well if where he was was any indication, he probably was made out of bludgers, or what ever the different Qudditch balls were.
"Merlin love them. Quaffles've never like being caged. Are you okay?"
Like? As if they actually have feelings? Merlin if everything in this shop was sensitive she better quit then and why some other way to make money for her family. There was no way that she could sustain this shop for three years. It was also starting to feel not worth it. She could live without A thousand Galleons. But could her siblings?
"I better clean this up for Flynnie, Merlin rest him."
Genevieve frowned but she allowed to assist her anyways. Flynnie? He obviously knew her great uncle. How much? Was she ever mentioned?
Have you been helped? Can I shout for someone? Sometimes they're caught in the back and don't hear people enter."
Helped? Caught in the back. Oh he must think she needed help. Glancing down at her expensive skirt and blouse, she realized why she garnered that impression. The likes of her rarely ventured in here.
"Gunther? There's a lady at the counter, boyo."
"Actually I do not need assistance. In fact it is Monsieur Gunther's day off. I appreciate your assistance but what can I help you with?" She asked kicking off her other shoe. She waved her wand and their disappeared. Once this man was gone she'd grab another pair, hopefully she could find something serviceable. She grabbed a quaffle and made to put it back of the shelf but she couldn't get it to stay.
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Post by Theo Bowre on Jul 23, 2011 1:19:16 GMT -5
"Actually I do not need assistance. In fact it is Monsieur Gunther's day off. I appreciate your assistance but what can I help you with?"
Foot. Mouth. Me. Theo opened his mouth but nothing came out, his better judgment slapping him sideways for coming to a hasty conclusion. The shopkeeper's appearance had caused him to go somewhere else - anywhere other than Quidditch - and he felt like a fool for it. It just wan't every day you found a refined, non-pants-wearing French clerk in a sports shop. His eyes caught sight of Gen's plight with the quaffle and he helped her to secure it to the shelf as he attempted to apologize.
"I'm so sorry. Je suis desolee. I just, I...yeah...I thought you were a customer. I haven't been here in a few months and I'm not completely up on the staff changes. Please, I'm so sorry. My name's Theo." Bowre extended his hand and offered a sturdy handshake. "So, have you been here long?"
Content with their efforts on keeping the quaffles at bay, Theo pulled Stah's note from his back jean's pocket and placed it on the front counter.
"I had you order a custom broom from NIMBUS and I understand that it's in. Gunther asked me to come in for a fitting and I realize that I forgot to check his schedule. Um, I know how to fit them and mark them up for alterations, if that's permissible. If not, I can absolutely come back another day. I also need another tin of pro-wax. In blue. Please."
Theo smiled shyly. He was awful around women he had never met, especially pretty ones who liked Quidditch. He always felt like such a bumbling idiot. Not wanting his mass to take up the front counter, Theo stepped back a foot, hitting his head on a hanging sign. He shot up a quick hand to prevent it from rocking.
"Sorry. J'ai la malchance. Comme, toujours."
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 27, 2011 20:06:16 GMT -5
It was quite interesting to watch all the different shades of embarrassment that could be shown on a human face. The man was obviously a bit off kilter and maybe even flustered when he learned her identity. Did he expect the lurking feminist inside of nearly everyone, to launch at his face, fangs bared because he assumed that she was a customer because she wore expensive skirts? Not likely. It was an honest mistake. She acted like a customer. Merlin, she could barely stack silly red balls without them tumbling across the floor in a mad dash to escape. It was an accident in the making. Oh she could see it now, a little old lady or a rushing oblivious child tripping over an errant ball, flying backwards arms flaying smacking the ground so hard they hurt themselves. Lawyers would be swooping down on her meager business in seconds taking every kunt she had to her name.
"I'm so sorry. Je suis desolee. I just, I...yeah...I thought you were a customer. I haven't been here in a few months and I'm not completely up on the staff changes. Please, I'm so sorry. My name's Theo."
Ah a man who spoke French! Her blue eyes warmed just a bit at her native tongue. The man was not horrible.
"It is an honest mistake. I am the owner and new manager. Flynn was my Great Uncle. It is a pleasure to meet you Theo. I am Genevieve," She said grasping his hand with her own soft one.
"I had you order a custom broom from NIMBUS and I understand that it's in. Gunther asked me to come in for a fitting and I realize that I forgot to check his schedule. Um, I know how to fit them and mark them up for alterations, if that's permissible. If not, I can absolutely come back another day. I also need another tin of pro-wax. In blue. Please."
what was a nimbus? Wait...was it a broom. She was in a broom shop so of course it was a broom. Mark a broom why? This was all so confusing.
"No, please do what you must. I am afraid I know nothing about this business. Are you a Pro player?" She asked slightly impressed. Even she knew that it took a lot to be a Qudditch player. Didn't she date one when she had been younger? Her relationships were never very serious. At least she knew where the wax was. There was a huge shelf filled with different kinds and merlin they were color coded.
"J'ai la malchance. Comme, toujours"
"Êtes-vous bien ?" She called out when he managed to hit his head. Between the two of them they could destroy the entire place.
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Post by Theo Bowre on Jul 30, 2011 2:17:59 GMT -5
"It is an honest mistake. I am the owner and new manager. Flynn was my Great Uncle. It is a pleasure to meet you Theo. I am Genevieve."
"You're Flynn's great niece?" Theo was dumbstruck enough by the admission to forget to release Gen's hand. Flynn was a man whom the beater admired greatly. He knew the Game inside out, could sprout out a world of trivia and even had a soft spot for Wales, which was hard to come by in England. To see his flesh and blood back in the shop was an unexpected gift. "Genevieve. So good to meet you. I knew your Great Uncle very well. He was...he was an amazing man."
"Êtes-vous bien ?" She called out when he managed to hit his head. Between the two of them they could destroy the entire place.
The beater released a boyish grin, blushing slightly at being caught.
"Oui. Yeah. Oui." Theo suddenly caught sight of a parchment-wrapped parcel over Gen's shoulder, his name written in black ink across the side.
"I think that's her. Would you mind if I..."
"No, please do what you must. I am afraid I know nothing about this business. Are you a Pro player?"
"Wales National. I'm a beater." The admission was spoken quietly. There were some players that revelled in the attention that being "pro" brought. Theo was not one of these players. He attended all his games. He trained hard. He did as he was told. He wasn't about to don sunglasses and carry an entourage because he was good at his job. If his lack of desire for celebrity-status made him an unpopular player, so be it. Theo carefully unwrapped the package revealing a dark battleship-grey broom that was polished with mirror-like clarity. NIMBUS glistened in intricate chrome along the hilt and slick black bristles whooshed neatly together with aerodynamic precision.
"My God. She's beautiful." His hands turned the broom over, displaying the registration tag...BOWRE, T. WALES. NIMBUS 6000 SQUALL. "Perfectly balanced. Here, can I show you?" Theo held out his broom to Genevieve, inviting her to take it. He helped her to place two fingers beneath the leading edge of the seat and then released his grip so that the broom sat straight and unmoving on her hand. "They counterweight the hilt and change the gauge of the bristles so that it's unique to the player's weight, stature, agility, style of play...there's nothing that's not customized. Everyone has their favourite make, but I've been a NIMBUS boy since I could fly. Do you have a broom?"
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Aug 2, 2011 21:53:15 GMT -5
"You're Flynn's great niece?"
Gen nodded a bit taken a back by the man's enthusiasm. She half expected him to wildly pump her hand or pull her into a big hug exclaiming how very glad he was too meet her. Gen did not know her uncle well. It had been years since she had seen him and they hadn't been very close in nearly a decade. It was strange that he had even left her, of all people, the shop. Surely there was someone else, even this young man who would have appreciated it more. Merlin, would have known what to do with it. Qudditch was a new world to her and she hadn't yet grasped the language.
"Genevieve. So good to meet you. I knew your Great Uncle very well. He was...he was an amazing man."
She was sure he was. When she'd been a little girl visiting England, he'd cheer her up. Often, he'd let her play by his feet as he worked, he'd tell her stories and show her things but she had forgotten everything. Or tried to. Gen actually hated brooms. Flying was dangerous, especially at fast rates but she couldn't very well tell anyone that she hated the very sport that paid her bills? She'd been nine when she fell off the broom Flynn had been making her...She'd never been on another.
The man didn't seem at all happy about the fact that she pointed out he was a professional player. Most men gloated, asked if she wished their autograph or told a story about how close they come to death but they love the sport and ask if she'd miss them if they were to die. It was sickening how players were honored while aurors, or even teachers were not recognized for their work. Players didn't really contribute to society yet they were the heroes, and demanded fame. This man was not like that. Instead of drawing attention to the fact that he was paid to play a game, he hid it. He obviously love his job. Gen couldn't help but smile at his child like glee as he ripped open the package and worshiped his new broom.
What was so special about a gray broom with custom writing? It was sleek, she'd give him that but it was just a broom. Her calm mask still in place, Gen carefully took the broom from the man and allowed him to show her how balanced it was. If she was going to take over the shop and get her inheritance she had to learn the trade.
"They counterweight the hilt and change the gauge of the bristles so that it's unique to the player's weight, stature, agility, style of play...there's nothing that's not customized. Everyone has their favourite make, but I've been a NIMBUS boy since I could fly. Do you have a broom?"
"I don't fly." She said commented handing him the broom back. Her voice had been soft an direct with little emotion, but her eyes were darker.
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Post by Theo Bowre on Aug 7, 2011 20:16:34 GMT -5
"I don't fly."
"Oh." Theo tried to hide his surprise at the comment, putting the Nimbus down so as to not bore her with something she might not be interested in. It was an odd juxtaposition having someone who didn't fly run a Quidditch shop but it wasn't his place to judge. She could be a brilliant business woman and exactly what was needed for the front line of a faltering sporting goods industry. "I'm sorry. Here I am shoving a broom in your face." He smiled shyly and pointed at a wax crayon. "I'm just going to make a few marks."
Theo placed his hand above the broom, causing it to hover immediately beneath his lowered hand. He straddled it carefully, finding the right position, and used the white marker to note the position of his grip and legs. He continued making adjustments as he spoke to Genevieve.
"So do you live in London or did you just move here? Are you liking it in Diagon so far?" Suddenly Theo worried that he was being too intrusive. This wasn't Flynn. He couldn't expect the shopkeeper to want to divulge everything after only just meeting. She probably thought him a Nosey Parker. "Sorry, am I asking too many questions? Please tell me to shut up if I am. I have a habit of doing that...There. That should do it." Theo dismounted his broom and jotted down a quick note for Stahl, complete with a smiley face and a thumbs up. He wrapped the broom back in its parchment, placing it on the order rack and facing Gen.
"I owe you some money. Can I square my account with you? I really, REALLY appreciate how quickly you guys were able to get this broom to me. It's been a bit of a rough week and I've missed my ride."
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Aug 10, 2011 23:53:53 GMT -5
Admitting one could not fly while running and owning a store all about flying was probably not the smartest business move. The fact that she could barely summon a broom from the ground should strike fear in her patrons. She knew nothing about the business. All she had were vague childish impressions from the few hours she had watched Flynn work. The Qudditch player had withdrawn the second she confessed that she did not fly. His enthusiasm dimmed and a distance sprang up between them. It was like an invisible wall had formed between them, gently pushing the pair away from each other. If Gen was really going to run this business and we successful at it, she needed to learn how to fly. The very thought of being even floating five feet up in the air with nothing below her but a thin piece of wood and a spell terrified her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her stomach tightened and rolled as if a stormy ocean had taken root inside of her belly. She was so preoccupied with her fear of heights that she hadn't noticed that her little sister Chantee had entered the room.
The stairs that lead to the upper apartment was half hidden behind a display case. No one had noticed the small huddled form of eleven year old Chantee. Watching from the shadows, she had heard nearly the entire conversation and quickly surmised that her older sister was butchering the interview. The red head bounced into the room, with five year old Emilie on her hip.
" Don't think less of Gen because she can't fly. She's deathly afraid of heights," The little girl said cheerfully as she examined the broom.
"You any good?" The little girl questioned, her accent a mix of Scottish and French.
Genevieve stiffened as her little sister told her belle noire, or night mare to the stranger. Really, the little girl had the biggest mouth of anyone she knew and had a tendency to tell everyone her business. It wasn't out of mean spiritedness, just openness. Chantee trusted the world.
"So do you live in London or did you just move here? Are you liking it in Diagon so far?"
Gen was about to respond when Chantee did it for her. "We just moved here a few weeks ago. It's Emilee's first time in England but the others lived here off and on, mostly during the summers. Papa use to be the French Ambassador for England when I was little."
Sorry, am I asking too many questions? Please tell me to shut up if I am. I have a habit of doing that...There. That should do it."
"It is alright," Gen said softly. Questions were understandable. Gen watched as the man scratched out a note, wrapped up the broom and placed it back.
"I owe you some money. Can I square my account with you? I really, REALLY appreciate how quickly you guys were able to get this broom to me. It's been a bit of a rough week and I've missed my ride."
"Of course. Stahl is very good. He deserves your praise. It is his talent that has create this broom. I order things," She said with a wry smile. Yes, she was very talented at ordering.
"Why has your week been so rough? What happened to your old...ride?"She asked as she took down the ledger that contained the accounts regulars had in the store.
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Post by Theo Bowre on Aug 11, 2011 23:41:43 GMT -5
A gentle pitter-patter of footfalls began from the floor above and descended down what Theo surmised was a hidden staircase. Looking inquisitively over his shoulder, the beater's attention was at first drawn to a display shelf that held an unnatural number of England National and European Union bobbleheads. The eerie movement of their noggins gave Theo a bit of a shudder and he was thankful to find that his gaze was quickly averted to something more pleasant, and that was the sight of two young children. He smiled, finding something familiar in the way the eldest of the two protectively held the other.
" Don't think less of Gen because she can't fly. She's deathly afraid of heights,"
"I wouldn't dare think such a thing. I have no place to judge others. Actually, some of my best friends won't let their feet leave the ground. Ever." The silence that followed left Theo a bit awkward. The girl was quite a cheerful little thing but she seemed to look at you as though she could spot a fake a mile away. The pause continued. "Um, hi. I'm Theo." Should he shake the girl's hand? Should he wave? Who were these little pumpkins? Theo had little chance to contemplate these questions as the girls were soon analyzing his broom and his person.
"You any good?"
"Not really, no."
"We just moved here a few weeks ago. It's Emilee's first time in England but the others lived here off and on, mostly during the summers. Papa use to be the French Ambassador for England when I was little."
"Oh! L'Ambassadeur a Français! C'est exitant!" Theo looked at the little one sitting in the eldest girl's arms and softened. "Are you Emilee, sweetpea? And who might you be? I'll assume, then, that you're sisters? How do you know Gen?"
Silence. Theo knew better than to speak French. He wasn't very fluent and only had a butchering of the beautiful language from his matches against the country's squad. The French often hated it when others tried to speak their tongue: it was like the words came out tainted. He was grateful when Gen picked up the conversation where they left off.
"Of course. Stahl is very good. He deserves your praise. It is his talent that has create this broom. I order things. Why has your week been so rough? What happened to your old...ride?"
Theo leaned over the counter and whispered.
"I'm an orderer myself." He returned Gen's grin, enjoying her self-depricating humour. He was similarly inclined, especially when faced with a daunting task. "Um, my week...actually, I really shouldn't be complaining. I was lucky and others weren't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't even compare my misfortunes to theirs. I can be a little short-sighted sometimes." Theo pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, placing enough money on the counter to cover the cost of the broom in full, the broom wax, and the previous outstanding balance of 25 galleons, 14 sickles and 1 knut.
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