For Wendell's master plan to take effect, he had to turn himself into a brand new person. He didn't want to be caught and thrown back in jail. If he were caught, he knew it would be for good this time. Not only would Ballantine keep an eye on him so close he couldn't hope to ever escape, but his sentance would certaintly be life-long. That was why even though he had a brand new body, Jasper insisted that he work on masking some of the more flamboyant parts of his personality. First and foremost, his unfailing tendancy to flirt. Considering his past experiances with the BHL, they had decided if there was one thing he had to learn to control it was his "lustiness."

So Wendell had been sent into the devil's lair so to speak. If there was one place in all of wizarding London (aside from the Magical Law Enforcement office) that could provide temptation for him, it was the somewhat shady nightclub in Knockturn Alley. The place was filled with more beautiful, scantily-clad women than you'd find in Diagon Alley, and Hogsmede put together. An ideal place to test his resolve, his ability to stay cool under pressure. His objective was simple. Enter the bar. Find a pretty girl. Don't flirt with her. If flirting becomes necessary, do NOT under any circumstances use disgustingly romantic metaphors.

So far he had successfully completed stage one of the operation. Namely, "Enter the Bar." The second part of his plan he assumed would be just as simple. "Find a pretty girl." However, as he looked around himself, he saw that he was surrounded by men, and girls that weren't so pretty. How disconcerting! He would never be able to test his resolve at this rate! He wandered through the crowd up towards the bar. It wasn't that there weren't any attractive women at all. It was just they were too tall, or they were too blonde, or they were too pale, or too tan, or the shape of their nose wasn't quite right. He couldn't quite explain it. He'd never been so picky before! He'd never been picky at all! A pair of dark brown eyes flashed through his mind, followed shortly by the memory of a heated kiss but he quickly pushed them aside.

Arriving at the bar he ordered a glass of firewhiskey. He needed to loosen up, this being on the run thing was starting to get to him. That was all. Looking down the bar, he caught site of a tall, blonde, devistatingly beautiful woman. Now normally, he went for brunettes but this woman was like a greek sculpture. Perfection in everyway. From the moment that he laid eyes on her, everything else in the room seemed to become muted, completely unimportant. His mind grew fuzzy as if he had drank a half-dozen glasses of firewhiskey instead of just two sips. Who was she? Why did she have this unusual effect on him? Who the hell cared?

Unable to think, unable to control any of his actions at all he found that he had slid down to the barstool next to her own.

"Tell me...did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

She hadn't come here for any reason other than familiarity. It was here that she and Baldur had made the deal that would take them to Ireland and it was here that the two had first formed their partnership years before. There were other places to drink, quieter, more private places. Where the booze was cheaper and tainted with less water from the rivers...Shallah sniffed her ale and pushed it away, or the sewers rather. The Cauldron offered similar familiarity but it was also open, well lit, and full of chatty members of the wizarding community. All things to be avoided, at least for now.

In contrast the Vault had music that pulsed so loud it was difficult to hear anything if you weren't close to the bar, and the sound shielded it had been enchanted with. The patrons here were less concerned with conversation and much more concerned with the dance floor, and the pretty young things on it. Baldur had told her that dancing made them feel alive but even as she watched she couldn't form the spastic hip motions and arm waving into a dance. Dancing was rhythm, speed, precision, she watched a youth of no more than 20 drop to the ground and attempt to spin his wrist. She just could not see it.

She regarded her drink before entrapping it in her hand and lifting it to her lips. The off colored beverage was certainly not the worst thing she had ever put into her body. Leaving the last inch or so in the bottom of the glass she set it down and surveyed the hall; and become suddenly very aware that someone was watching her.

A man, more specifically. A very pleasant looking man, who she quickly found seated next to her.

Tell me...did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

She frowned, but relaxed her face. A moment later Shallah turned her head, an action that conveyed more amusement than her face. There were many wizards, and many witches actually who had low tolerance to the very presence of a veela. This seemed to be one of them. Though she hadn't been entirely aware that she had been broadcasting any 'come hither' signal, she could have done much worse. But he seemed to suffer from a flaw she had witnessed in so many like him; they such pretty faces, until they opened their mouths.

"Heaven is a considerable distance, I would suspect it would hurt greatly. Though I believe you confuse me with another species entirely."

"Heaven is a considerable distance, I would suspect it would hurt greatly. Though I believe you confuse me with another species entirely."

Somewhere in the back of his haze-filled mind there was a small niggling, a tiny voice shouting from the furtherest recesses of his conciousness. It sounded a bit like Jasper, and it was saying something along the lines of: "Wendell you FAIL!" He had been in the Vault all of two minutes and he had already failed in his objective. He had been certain that he could last longer than that! Of course right now he wasn't thinking much of anything, except for how he was going to impress this goddess-like woman.

"Ah! Good to know. I can't abide angels. They're too self-righteous, and they always make everyone else look bad."

He broke out his most charming smile. It was a different sort of smile than his usual one (the downside of polyjuice potion), but he was discovering that women tended to prefer this new one. Now most people might have found this a serious blow to their self-esteem. Wendell, however, was not most people. Instead of feeling bad about his natural looks, he just took advantage of his new attractive visage. Seemingly unable to control any of his actions, let alone the words that were coming out of his mouth he launched into one of his typical romantic shpeals. They were cheesier than a block of cheddar, and he knew every one in the proverbial book.

"But your loveliness makes the morning sun look as sickly as the pale moon. Fate must have sent you here to light up this dismal corner of the world! Allow me then, as a gesture of my deepest thanks to buy you a drink fair lady!"

Without even bothering to turn away from her he gestured to the bartender. The bartender who seemed to be hovering around the beautiful woman anyways, had another drink set in front of her before Wendell could finish saying:

"Another drink for the lady."

Ah! Good to know. I can't abide angels. They're too self-righteous, and they always make everyone else look bad.

He looked confused, an interesting expression on his face. It was as if the muscles weren't used to position they needed to take on to make confusion possible. It took little time for his features to spread out into a wide smile, one that looked infinitely more natural on him. She wondered if perhaps his opening comment had been some sort of accident, brought out by mere proximity to her, he quickly proved her wrong.

But your loveliness makes the morning sun look as sickly as the pale moon. Fate must have sent you here to light up this dismal corner of the world! Allow me then, as a gesture of my deepest thanks to buy you a drink fair lady! .

In her time among humans she had heard similar odes to her loveliness, and other qualities, but the ones singing the odes tended to have at least a few drinks in them and it was not a practice that she encouraged. He attempted poetry but the outcome was much closer to a stuttered, school boy confession to a crush. Something that when looked back upon made both parties blush. Combine it with the wide hand gestures and it was a show.

[i] another drink for the lady[/].

The bartender, who was giving her the same sort of look as the other man, but was managing to remain silent about it set down a blueish liquid. It was certainly more aesthetically pleasing than her previous order.

"My gratitude sir, both for the drink and verse. Though I feel confident you would say the same to any number of 'fair ladies' in this place." The lines were awful, worse than she had heard in years but there was something to be said for the mans sincerity.

“Don’t be absurd! I would never use the same pick up line twice in one night.” He replied sounding offended. If something didn’t work once, only a complete dunce would repeat the same mistake over and over. If it did work, then there would be no need to repeat the experiment with someone else. It was one of the standard laws of the universe, and was certainly applicable to pick up lines. He wasn’t utterly obtuse, after all.

The vague voice in the back of his mind continued its shrill cry, and Wendell found himself terribly annoyed by its persistence. Didn’t it know that he didn’t want to hear its piping voice when everything else was so lovely and hazy? Why did it have to try and ruin everything? He was having an excellent time impressing this beautiful woman with his verses of love! Why she had even accepted a drink from him! He was succeeding in a way he had never been able to with Sof--! The voice grew in strength at the thought of that particular person. Until he could finally make out what the little bugger was saying.

“WARNING! WARNING! YOU ARE IN DANGER OF COMPLETELY FAILING YOUR TASK! NO FLIRTING! STOP IT!”

Oh.

The mission. Right.

He shook his head trying to clear it of some of the delightful mist that so effectively muddled it. He was here to work on his new persona, not pick up girls. Or at the very least, pick up girls in his new persona. And new persona did not include pickup lines. Bugger.

“What I mean of course, is if I made a habit of using pickup lines I wouldn’t use the same one twice. But I don’t you see because…” He trailed off trying desperately to focus.

What was in this drink? He had only asked for a simple firewhiskey! And while it didn’t taste any stronger than usual it certainly seemed to be affecting him. He wasn’t normally this much of a lightweight, he’d barely drunk half a glass!

“You put something a wee bit extra in this drink mate?” He asked the barkeep, looking at the drink distrustfully. “Seems a bit…stronger than usual.”

He continued to babble and then paused suddenly, shaking his head to and fro as if he were trying to dislodge something. Shallah could take a guess at what he might be trying to dispel but she couldn't imagine why. Perhaps he had a reason for wishing to throw off the charmed veil that her very presence could settle around a human's head. Maybe there was someone else, another fragile bodied human waiting in some brownstone eagerly awaiting his return. Though with pick up lines like he had been displaying she doubted it.

Blinking once or twice she upped the amp ever so slightly on her charming abilities. It took more effort to control it than not and she was enjoying herself, no need to have complete control all of the time.

What I mean of course, is if I made a habit of using pickup lines I wouldn’t use the same one twice. But I don’t you see because….

His tone dropped and he assumed a different body language. One that spoke of someone who was used to women fawning over him instead of the other way around. An interesting turn of events. And there was something else about the man, as if his skin were a shroud for something else. Instead of him she concentrated on the mist for a moment, trying to make it part and then she saw, and couldn't help the smile that appeared.

More than a pretty face indeed. She would let this interlude continue, curious about why a wizard would choose to wear the guise of another.

You put something a wee bit extra in this drink mate? Seems a bit…stronger than usual. . He was eyeing the glass as if something would magically appear there and explain his predicament. Shallah took the opportunity to move closer, about a half foot away now. "Because?" She prompted, waving the bar tended away before taking a long sip of her drink.

The bartender shrugged at him. What kind of answer was that? Had he been drugged? Or was this some weird side effect of the concentrated poly-juice potion he had taken. But that didn't make sense either really, since he had drunk plenty of Jasper's liquor and there had been no happy mist there. He turned back to the blonde goddess to find that she had slid closer to him. Oh Merlin. It was back, and it was much worse. Well that is, if this condition could be described using such unhappy terminology as 'worse.' Far 'better' would be a more accurate description.

The voice had been effectively silenced again, and replaced by thoughts of the mysterious woman in front of him. Who was she? And what could he do to impress her? It wasn’t that Wendell didn’t know what Veela were, or what they typically looked like. But once you got caught under their spell you didn’t have the presence of mind to distinguish such paltry details. And Wendell, being particularly susceptible to feminine charms of any nature, had no defense against her potent pheromones.

"Because?"

His brain was feeling a bit like mush. Her finely sculpted features were the only thought his mind had room for. And as a wise potion maker once said, ‘Never underestimate the power of obsessive love.’

“Why would I want to make a habit of it, when I’m already sharing a drink with you?” He asked with a charming smile.

He was already trying to think up more odes of love for her in his head, but was stuck on one very important point. He hadn’t the faintest notion what her name was. This would never do.

“Do you have a name? It’s only fair to share you know.”

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(OOC: Sorry for the delay. I decided to go to a concert at the last minute yesterday!)

Why would I want to make a habit of it, when I’m already sharing a drink with you?.

"Better." She purred. He looked so thoroughly confused. But the happy sort, the kind of expression she had sometimes witnessed on the faces of human children. Well, that wasn't really accurate, all humans were children. Too transient a being for any other distinction from her. She reached out and ran her long white fingers over the clothe of his shirt and watched his eyes stutter. No doubt he was preparing another ode to her loveliness.

Do you have a name? It’s only fair to share you know..

Not an ode at all. A name might be what his work was missing. She rather hoped he didn't favor rhyming, there was little in English that made her name rhyme. "Shallah." She answered, not attempting to curtail the heavy Slavic accent of her home. It was prettier that way and veela did like things to be pretty, and it demonstrated proper pronunciation. The English pronunciations of the vowel "a" had made her shudder every time they spoke. Especially the ones who lived near the harbor, a Chelsea accent she believed it was called.

This was pleasure and not business and in keeping with that she did not add the title that she had used as a surname in her time outside of the wetlands. It was an imitative formality and there was no need for it here, in front of this man who was gazing at her so intently.

"And in turn I would ask for the name you are known by?"

ooc sorry for my delay! haha. I hope the concert was good.

Shallah. It certainly wasn't English, but then hadn't he already deduced that from her accent? The answer was a resounding no. He hadn't even noticed that she had a rather heavy Slavic accent, which was odd considering exactly how focused on her he was at present. Still his head was unable to make the connection exceedingly beautiful woman + bizarrely muddled head x Slavic accent = Veela. Of course, this had less to do with natural stupidity on his part, and was more a result of her purring voice, and the feel of her fingertips as she caressed his shirt. A feeling of ecstasy pulsed through him, more powerful than he had ever before experienced. And with it an ever growing need to please this woman in anyway he could. Normal Wendell would have been disgusted at the quivering mass he had be been reduced to by the mere whisper of her low but melodious voice.

"And in turn I would ask for the name you are known by?"

“Wen-“ he paused. What was he doing? He had very nearly given her his real name! Two opposing, very powerful feeling struggled within him, the urge to please the woman and the desire to keep his identity secret.

“Wentworth, Dillan Wentworth.”

Yup, even in this crazy drugged out state Wendell still maintained a greater affection for one person than he did for the charming Veela, himself. This was a comforting thought. Maybe he would be able to keep up this Wentworth charade. Not that he was doing a particularly admirable job of it at present, but small victories were victories nevertheless.

“What brings you to London, Shallah? Business or pleasure?”

He leaned towards her ever so slightly, with his usual grin that wasn’t so usual anymore.

Wen- and then he drew back, looking for all the world like some sort of bewildered child. That look was quickly replaced by one of abject determination and she smiled. She loved the expression, it was so human. His jaw worked seemingly of its own and she wondered what the problem was, why shouldn't his name roll of his tongue as easily as the words he had spoken before?

He regained control confusing replaced by conviction, Wentworth, Dillan Wentworth. .

"Dillan Wentworth." She tried the name, weighed it with her tongue. Being careful to stress it as he had. It was not a familiar name, she did not know him from anywhere. Good, it would allow her to take the opportunity to relax. The memory of a Veela was long running and deep, many faces were seen and then sank to the bottom. Many of them were never seen again. It was dangerous to forget faces in her line of work, you never knew if the man you were talking to was someone you had screwed out of a deal, stolen from, stolen for. But Dillan didn't seem to be any of those.

He leaned in, he smelled like cologne and faint hints of sweat. His smile revealed very white teeth. She smiled back. What brings you to London, Shallah? Business or pleasure?.

He all but purred the last word and a small laugh broke out from between her red lips. It wasn't a typical laugh, it sounded more like a high melodic whisper. Laughing had been something she had learned late in her years outside of the Swamps and she still didn't have it completely right. Was this another one of his chat lines? A not so subtle attempt at requesting physical gratification?

"Business is my pleasure Dillan. Though you happen to find me at a time when I have little of that to occupy me." She sipped her drink demurely, and looked up at him through long lashes. "Its been a number of years since I've been to London. I didn't know where to start my explorations. So I came here." She waved an arm at the crowd, "Though its not as familiar as it once was. And as for you, what is your pleasure?"

"And as for you, what is your pleasure?"

Now there was an interesting question! Something that Wendell hadn't really thought of before this very moment. He had carefully sculpted a history, a family, and a new persona. But he hadn't bothered to think about something as mundane as his interests. Ideally they would be quite similar to his own interests. But then, his interests largely involved hitting on pretty woman, and going to wild parties hosted by his mates. And like Shallah he did rather enjoy his business as well. There was always a rush of exhilaration, a dose of adrenaline associated with it. But none of these were appropriate interests for Dillan Wentworth. Wentworth was supposed to be a good guy (at least in the ministry's eyes), and he wasn't supposed to know very many people in England. And the whole purpose of this exercise was to break him of his incessant skirt chasing (or at least refine it a little).

“Long walks on the beach, candlelit dinners…you know the usual.” He responded with subtle sarcasm, raising his glass in a mock toast. A cocky grin stole over his features as he poked fun at the stereotypes he would normally try to work into some sort of pick up line. Sarcasm wasn’t a form of humor that he tended to use a whole lot in public; perhaps it was something he should consider using now.

“I’m newly returned to London myself, actually. Do you suppose it’s coincidence or fate?”


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(OOC: My apologizes for it's sad shortness...my muse deserte me...to make up for it I also present it in pirate speak! Cause it changed days in the middle o' me post!)
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"An' as fer ye, what be yer pleasure?"

Now thar be an interestin' question! Somethin' that Wendell hadn`t really thought o' before this very moment. He had carefully sculpted a history, a family, an' a new swabbiea. But he hadn`t bothered t' think about somethin' as mundane as his interests. Ideally they would be quite similar t' his own interests. But then, his interests largely involved hittin' on pretty lass, an' goin' t' wild parties hosted by his mates. An' like Shallah he did rather enjoy his business as well. Thar be always a rush o' exhilaration, a dose o' adrenaline associated wi' 't. But none o' these be appropriate interests fer Dillan Wentworth. Wentworth be supposed t' be a good guy (at least in th' ministry`s one good eye), an' he wasn`t supposed t' know very many swabbies in England. An' th' whole purpose o' this exercise be t' break th' lad's o' his incessant skirt chasin' (or at least refine 't a wee).

“Long walks on th' beach, candlelit dinners…ye know th' usual.” He responded wi' subtle sarcasm, raisin' his glass in a mock toast. A cocky grin stole o'er his features as he poked fun at th' stereotypes he would normally try t' work into some sort o' pick up line. Sarcasm wasn’t a form o' humor that he tended t' use a whole lot in public; perhaps 't be somethin' he ortin' ta consider usin' now.

“I’m newly returned t' London myself, actually. Do ye suppose 't’s coincidence or fate?”

Long walks on the beach, candlelit dinners…you know the usual. The words were back as horrible as when he had first approached her but the way in which he delivered them was different. More controlled, it was that combined with a slight raising of the eyebrows that let her know he was making use of sarcasm. It was something the people of Britain were particularly skilled at, but it had taken her years to be able to recognize it in use.

He was being sarcastic but just barely, and there seemed to be another layer to the joke, one she wasn't privy too. Perhaps this human was more interesting than she had at first assumed. "Is that the usual? I had no idea." She sipped from her glass in small bursts, setting it back on the counter and running her finger along the rim. The glass hummed softly, "My tastes tend to run in a decidedly less civilized direction."

I’m newly returned to London myself, actually. Do you suppose it’s coincidence or fate?. "I believe in neither and so cannot say." The words were too simple to describe such concepts, she very much doubted that even if humanity had adequate words that would be able to grasp their meaning. She left that train of thought and smiled at him, the expression wasn't as foreign to her as it had been. With practice she had developed what she imagined to be a rather pleasing smile. Shallah extended a hand and rubbed the fabric of his collar between her thumb and forefinger, it was a nice material.

"What is it you do Dillan?"

"What is it you do Dillan?"

"Whatever I fancy in the moment." He replied with an evasive smile. He couldn't exactly go around telling her he was normally involved in various illict activities (Wendell could but not Dillan), and she didn't need to know he was trying to weasel his way into the auror department either. And frankly, her question was just a little too ambiguous to make him feel the slightest bit guilty about his deflections.

Well that, and she was feeling up his collar. Strange sort of woman wasn't she? I mean she seemed interested (although to his haze-filled mind the very fact that she even shot him a second glance would have confirmed this). Was caressing other people's outerwear considered a come on where she was from? Although, he considered himself a savant of all things romantic, this was one particular custom that he had never come across. It was a rather frustrating practice in his opinion. It placed her devastatingly close, and teased the senses but there was no gratification.

This sort of treatment towards our dear hero antihero, had recently become the norm and he was quickly growing tired of it. The last thing he wanted after that heated closet session with Sofia was another woman toying with him. It was going to start to eat away at his ego soon. Or at the very least leave him in a rather foul, unfulfilled temper.

"I'm sure you're far more interesting than me anyway. What sort of business does the mysterious Miss Shallah find so pleasurable?"

I'm sure you're far more interesting than me anyway.. She shook her head in a small graceful motion. What sort of business does the mysterious Miss Shallah find so pleasurable?. She considered for a long moment. Enjoying the lights and the music, the way it made everything into one large kaleidescope, the way the bass tickled the bottoms of her feet through her boots. It's not nice to tease them. A voice that sounded like one of her sisters chided, but it was so much fun.

“I sell my body.” She responded evenly, pleasantly, layering her voice with just the right hint of seduction. The ambiguity of the English language delighted her. Immediately after the words left her mouth she pulled away from him, leaning toward the back of her stool. She lifted a hand and ordered another drink, her eyes never leaving Dillan. “I am considering a change in career though, its a job that requires a certain degree of transience and I feel I may be ready to leave that life. Become a more permanent fixture.” She excepted the drink the took a small demur sip before continuing. “London seemed good place to come and consider my options.” Her eyes watched him over the rim of the glass. “I came here to search for my old clients, but the city has changed a great deal since last I saw it. I am beginning to think they are all gone, and I will have to search for new employers.”

“A bothersome task.”