Karma.

Artemis had been recently turned on to the idea of Karma after reading a book about eastern charms and spell casting. It was a terribly fascinating concept that existed both in the magical world and the muggle world. Though considering her normal level of bad luck, she could only assume that she had been a truly evil person in her past life, maybe Hitler, or that bloke who invented income taxes. However, recently she couldn’t deny that things had been starting to look up. It seemed like fate had decided that she had taken enough of a beating, and was giving her a break. Life had been mercifully unexciting, and she had reveled in her simple routine. And she had somehow managed to make a new friend, in the unlikely person of Sofia Robards. Though they seemingly had little in common, the women had bonded over their respective thrashings by Karma.

It was a huge relief to have a friend to talk to. None of her school friends had settled in London, they were scattered across the country, and busy with their own lives so it had been difficult to keep in touch. It wasn’t that Artemis was alone, she was always around a ton of people be they virtual strangers, acquaintances, or family members. She was on generally friendly terms with a few of Apollo friends, but it wasn’t like they ever invited her out for drinks. In general, she had been a bit lonely, but no more. But that wasn’t to say that having Sofia Robards as your friend was always particularly easy. This afternoon for instance they had planned to have lunch, but Sofia had been called away ten minutes into the appetizer to check into a sighting of some wanted criminal.

It was understandable of course, but Arty had finished up her lunch quickly and was headed back home much earlier than she had anticipated. She picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet, it had Apollo’s latest fashion article in it and she like a good big sister made a habit of cutting them out and saving them for posterity’s sake. She was a bit engrossed reading the front-page article on the latest ministry disappearance, Ben Astbury, as she approached the shop. So as she opened the front door she didn’t immediately realize there was someone on the other side until she nearly walked straight into them. Luckily she had rather fast reflexes, honed from years of walking and reading at the same time and she stopped just short of actually plowing them over.

“Sorry about that-“ she started to apologize glancing up from her reading material. But the apology died on her lips as she stared wide-eyed at the man in front of her, Logan Fletcher.

She was wrong. Karma had just been refueling to come and trounce on her a bit harder.

Logan stood in front of the door to the secondhand shop, staring inside. It seemed silent and empty even of customers, which was odd. Of course, the floor arrangement was so poorly done that he could only see about three square feet of the place, so it wasn't really a good sample to draw conclusions from. He sighed, trying to think. His hands twitched and he thought of the letter he'd written last night.

That was why he was there--to deliver that letter. Last night he'd written it in earnest, suddenly feeling a terrible urge to go to Artemis. He'd felt that if he couldn't see her, if he continued this lifestyle of wishing for her without trying to win her, he would go absolutely mad. He'd stopped himself from Apparating to the shop immediately and settled himself to writing the letter instead. He always expressed himself better in writing, especially since he had the ability to revise it. After several drafts he had been left with something less desperate and more controlled than his first attempt and had been satisfied.

He pushed the door open and stopped just inside, listening to the bell as the sound rang in the silence and faded. No one popped up to welcome him, so he assumed that Artemis wasn't there. He didn't hear anyone talking to ponies, so that meant Apollo wasn't there either. He breathed a small sigh of relief. He weaved his way through the floor in the direction of the counter. When he got there he paused again, staring at the large metal cash register. That was where he had first met her.

Logan whipped the letter out of his pocket, slapped it down on the counter and turned on his heel, half-running back to the door. He tried to focus on anything but the memories and sense of failure trying to overtake him. He started to mentally go through the list of stones and minerals that could amplify magic. Unfortunately that was sort of a short list--thank Merlin, the door--so he moved on to gemstones that could be used as protective talismans. Agate, amber, andalusite, aquamarine, blue...blue...bugger. He stopped short of the door frame, hand over his eyes, thumb and middle finger rubbing his temples. He always forgot that one--

“Sorry about that--“

That voice.

He dropped his hand and there she stood. Her lovely blue eyes were wide, staring at him in shock. Something else began to creep in...sadness, regret, hurt. He looked away shamefully and his attention was caught by the contrast of her hair next to her skin. He followed that line from her cheek to her beautiful white neck--and jerked his vision back up to her face, but not all the way back to her eyes. He was distracted, captivated, by her lips, full and slightly parted by the abruptly silenced apology.

He took a deep breath and looked in the direction of the window display.

"I'm sorry, I just came to--well, I needed to--that is, I thought that if I...er," Logan said eloquently. He felt a moment of panic. What on earth was he supposed to say? This was why he had written the letter instead of asking her to meet him; of course, he hadn't been sure she would agree to meet him, which had been another motivation. But now they were there standing in front of each other. A small voice told him to take the opportunity. To do what? What had he said in the letter? He took another deep breath and looked at her, eye to eye.

"Artemis, I want to thank you," he said. He felt sort of foolish; like this was a futile effort, and she had already made up her mind. He didn't like to engage in futile behavior. But this time...this time it's worth it. He had to at least try to explain himself to her, attempt to combat the false reports the rest of the world provided for her. "Before I met you, I was trapped by my arrogance. I believed that morals--right and wrong, good and bad--were beneath me. They were unscientific. It was because of that perspective that I said yes to Garrow when I should have said no." He sighed and stepped back into the shop, hoping she would follow and close the door.

"I thought other people were beneath me, too. They were insipid. Stupid. But not you," he said, smiling sadly at her. "You're smart, enigmatic. I thought about you a lot after our first meeting. I wanted to know more about you, so I kept coming back. I cared about you, Arty. I still do," he added quietly. "And that taught me how to care about other people, too. Instead of writing them off I paid attention to them. I realized that people are varied and can occasionally be interesting."

He took a step forward, but stopped. He'd wanted to take her hands, but wasn't sure how good an idea that was at this point.

"You changed me, Arty, for the better as far as I'm concerned," he said. "I started defying Garrow. He didn't like it."

How was one supposed to act when their ex-boyfriend turned psychotic-evil-doers accomplice showed up on your doorstep? Shout for help? Carmen ought to have been upstairs, but then Carmen was the last person that she wanted walking in on this scene. And any way the woman probably wouldn’t actually help her. She’d just loiter in the shadows watching until Artemis was viciously murdered, then write an exposé in which she painted Arty as some sort of prostitute who was killed by an obsessed, jealous Fletcher who believed she had betrayed him for Rudolph. Somewhere in the article there would be mention of her having an idiot brother who was trying to practice mind control on London youths, using cursed glitter he applied to all the clothes he sold in the shop. The ‘My Little Ponies’ were in fact his evil minions, which would turn on their new owners devouring their children in the night. No. Shouting for help was not a good idea.

"I'm sorry, I just came to--well, I needed to--that is, I thought that if I...er,"

Awkwardness. Well at least that she could understand. It was awkward. But better that then deranged rage, hell-bent on extracting revenge for helping uncover his dirty deeds. She was rather fond of her limbs and their current placement. And then, after a deep breath he jolted in to his long, rambling apology/explanation.

She could appreciate the fact that this confession was difficult for Logan. He had probably never felt the compulsion to explain any of his decisions before. It was a bit sad really, that someone should become so disconnected to the rest of the world as he was. He had been completely blind to life outside of his research, so much that he couldn’t even objectively determine whether or not it would affect humanity for good or ill. He didn’t even care. And yet she couldn’t shake the repulsiveness of it. She didn’t want to hear his confession, didn’t want to know that her influence had saved him from his dark fate. She couldn’t see past the great looming hideousness of what had happened, the people who had lost their lives in his crossfire. She wanted to forget the human behind his mistakes, the one she had grown fond of.

"Artemis, I want to thank you, […] You taught me how to care about other people.

“You’re welcome.” There was no emotion behind it, empty words. But it was better than what was running through her head at that moment:

“How heroic of me. Why I might have saved the entirety of wizarding-Britain from the fate of being enslaved to a psychotic madman! Perhaps they should erect a statue in my honor. In Memory of Artemis Sinistra: For Saving Britain With Her Atrocious Taste in Men. She may have died a spinster, but she saved our arses!”

She suspected that sarcasm wasn’t the appropriate response to his—heartfelt confession. If you believed that he had a heart. She was not entirely convinced on that account. How could it just not occur to him that maybe controlling someone else's soul was a bad idea? That creating a curse that recreates the affects of the Dementor's kiss might, just possibly have consequences? Morals were unscientific? People where all insipid wastes of time? These weren’t the thoughts of a human.

She wanted to shake him, to berate him with cruel words. Cruel like what happened to Kate and Darien. It was his fault. He did that with his superiority complex, with his blind devotion to logic. And yet, he was admitting he was wrong. Admitting you had a problem was the first step to recovery. She had done that, made him admit he had a problem. But it had been to late to save Darien, or Judy Baines. Did she wish he had never met him at all, or simply earlier? Early enough to save him from himself and from the pernicious grasp of Edward Garrow. Because more painful was the knowledge that Logan Fletcher wasn’t evil. He was foolish, misguided, and devotedly single-minded perhaps, but not evil. And thus her quandary. To hate or not to hate. That was indeed the question.

He took a step towards her; rather like he had that day they had first met. It was his way of establishing contact. He came in closer, not so close as to invade her personal space, but close enough to be intimate. It was an unconscious move, to step back and create that space between them again. He couldn’t just step into her life again. Not after all that had happened. But she held his gaze. She would not be cowered in her own shop, not by this man or anyone else.

"You changed me, Arty, for the better as far as I'm concerned," he said. "I started defying Garrow. He didn't like it."

He was almost pleading by this point. Begging her to believe he had changed. But it wasn’t that easy, things never were.

“What do you expect me to say, Logan? That it’s all okay? Because it’s not, you know. It will never be fine. I’m not your savior, I’m just a shop girl.”

This is hopeless. He was experiencing a very curious feeling and the longer she stayed silent, the more it grew. A part of it was anger. He was angry at her for not understanding, for not seeing things from his point of view. He had been absolutely wrong about her. She wasn't intelligent at all; she was too stupid and bound by her worthless little morals to even consider the position he'd been in, to understand why he'd done things the way he had. Was it really so foreign to her, the seeking of knowledge? Was it so hard for her to know that he hadn't known Garrow's intentions, hadn't cared? No one had ever bothered to question his intentions or his motives; thus, he hadn't learned to question the motives of others. Why couldn't she understand that? Why couldn't she see?

But he was more angry with himself. Unjustifiably angry. He hated the way he had grown up, unchecked, unpunished for his comments and inhuman behavior. He felt small and stupid, for lording his detachment over his peers instead of seeing it for the bad thing it really was. How could he have missed it? Why didn't he recognize what such a lifestyle was doing to him? If he had had the ability then to see what was wrong, he would likely never have become an Unspeakable, never have gained such a reputation, never have been important to Garrow. It was all his fault; back from the beginning it had been his fault.

The other part was hopelessness, and he felt it wash over him as she stepped away, just one step; not out of fear, but to show him that he was unwelcome. The anger dropped away, both at her and at himself, replaced by a heavy feeling; the weight of all his mistakes. And as Artemis stepped away, Logan realized: she wouldn't help him carry them. He was utterly alone with his wretchedness. He felt a sob rise in his chest but he suppressed it, and he tried to keep his expression impassive. He'd once been very good at it, but now he couldn't tell how successful he was.

“What do you expect me to say, Logan? That it’s all okay? Because it’s not, you know. It will never be fine. I’m not your savior, I’m just a shop girl.”

"No, I know it's not okay, Artemis," he said quietly. It hasn't been okay since that awful day in January when Garrow called me to his office. It will never be fine, she said. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Was it true? Would he really be saddled with this feeling forever? He deserved it, if it happened that way. But was it wrong of him to hope for forgiveness--to hope, even, for happiness? He raised his head and looked at her, meeting her eyes with his sad, grim expression.

"There are a thousand things I want you to say, Arty, but I don't want to hear any of them unless they're true," he said. He stepped forward again, emboldened by the self-same hopelessness that weighed him down. If he had expectations of nothing, it wouldn't hurt him to try for something. "I don't need a savior anymore. I've been liberated. But a shop girl," he said, stopping and looking away to blink back a few tears. He looked at her again, in all her loveliness, and he looked her in the eye. What did he see there? She was so hard to read, but did he see some indecision there? He took another step forward.

"I would love a shop girl very much," he said, smiling sadly at her.

She clenched the newspaper tightly in her hands. Why had he come? Why? She couldn't just let him back into her life now. He was ruined, and he would do nothing but ruin her! And yet, she couldn't quite muster up the will to order him from her life forever. She didn't want to. Strange as it was she almost had more feeling for him now than she had when they had dated. Anger, remorse and pity to be sure but also the linger affection that she couldn't quite shake off despite her most earnest wishes. It would be so much easier if she could just hate him and be done with it. But she couldn't.

"There are a thousand things I want you to say, Arty, but I don't want to hear any of them unless they're true."

Unless I'll forgive you. Unless...I let you back in my life. But I can't do that. Can I?

"I don't need a savior anymore. I've been liberated. But a shop girl-- I would love a shop girl very much."

Her breath hitched as approached her; it was a slow, cautious approach as if she were some sort of skittish deer that he was trying not to frighten away. His eyes shown with a desperate determination. As though he knew that he would inevitably fail, but he couldn't help himself from trying even so. The voice in her head that shouted at her to make him leave grew more and more quiet. Muffled, lost to the abyss by the unexpected closeness, by his blue eyes that looked moist, and the timbre of his voice.

"You don't need a savior anymore," she repeated softly, tearing her eyes away. "You need--you need a friend."

And suddenly she felt the conviction flood back into her system. It was true. Did he (had he ever) have a real friend? When the entire wizarding world was clamoring for his blood, was there anyone in his life for him to turn to for a friendly ear? Someone to check his hubris, to tear him away from his work when he buried himself in it so deeply that it turned to obsession? No.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I can't be who you want me to be." She could see the light in his eyes begin to extinguish, as her words dealt a crushing blow. He couldn't have expected any more, but he wanted to anyway.

"But--" She paused searching for the right words. "If you'd like a friend, I could...maybe I could be that."

And there it was.

~~~~
(OOC: I figured after he responds, our favorite bony guest could make his entrance! ;) )

The expression on her face was absolutely killing him. It was in her eyes, all in her eyes; wide, clear and blue, staring back at him. He saw her distress in the slight furrowing of her brow. He saw her struggle. Did she really want to hate him so badly? Did he deserve it? His response to that question was inconclusive. Every time he decided one way or the other, something happened to indicate the opposite...like now. Artemis wanted to hate him, she'd made that clear before, but he didn't see hate in her. His heart jumped, and he didn't squash the small fluttering of hope in the back of his mind.

"You don't need a savior anymore. You need--you need a friend."

She looked away, and that was the first thing he focused on, almost forgetting that she'd spoken. She'd looked away, and Logan hung his head. It was only what he had expected. Of course she wouldn't allow things to go back to what they'd been before. She, once again, showed more sense than him. It was impossible; she recognized that. Logan had known it, but refused to believe it in all his blind hoping that she would forgive him. The feeling of foolishness he'd experienced earlier welled up again with a vengeance and he felt his neck grow warm.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I can't be who you want me to be."

Who did he want her to be? Had he entertained unreasonable expectations of her? Of course he had. I'm not your savior, I'm just a shop girl. That's what she'd said. He didn't want her to be anyone but herself--was that really true? Could he like her if she wasn't exceptional? But she is exceptional to me, Logan thought. He couldn't explain it. Perhaps she was average to everyone else, even in her own mind; maybe to them, she was just a shop girl. Logan looked up at her and smiled for a moment--she was much more than a shop girl to him. But the smile disappeared quickly. It didn't matter. She didn't want him. And why should she? He was a wreck of a human being.

"But--If you'd like a friend, I could...maybe I could be that."

Friend. Logan understood the concept of friendship; the idea that two people with similar interests got together and conversed regularly, and supported each other in their endeavors. In fact, his ideas about love and romance were based on that concept, just intensified and with the addition of sexual attraction. Wasn't friendship where people usually started their relationships? He'd tried to skip that part--his own mistake. He paused, thinking about this, her words hanging in the air...and his smile slowly returned. He looked at Arty and smiled a warm, grateful smile at her.

"You really are wonderful, Arty; wise in ways I'll never understand," he said, chuckling. "Yes, I would really like a friend, if you're willing. You'll have to be patient with me, it'll be rather a new--" a loud CRASH sounded outside and Logan glanced at the window before looking back at Arty "--experience. And I think something just threw itself against the outside wall."

- - - - -

(OOC: Ahh, it's Rudolph!)

"You really are wonderful, Arty; wise in ways I'll never understand...Yes, I would really like a friend, if you're willing. You'll have to be patient with me, it'll be rather a new--"

He was cut off by a loud crash from out front of the shop. They both looked around at the shop's front window at the sound. There was suspiciously no one there, never a good sign.

"--experience. And I think something just threw itself against the outside wall."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand, it was probably just some overly enthusiastic fourteen-year-old, but she had learned to be more cautious in recent weeks.

"It's probably nothing," she said turning back towards the front door. "A confused owl or something."

She pushed open the door, the bell giving a half hearted jingle as she leaned her head out and peered out at the street in front of the shop. There on the ground in front of the shop window lay a familiar figure, picking up his left arm and popping it back in its socket.

"Rudolph!" She dropped her wand having ascertained that there was no immenant danger. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? Did you sneak out again? You remember what happened last time you tried to come see me? You were nearly abducted by that old woman who thought you were her late husband Walter!"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" He replied enthusiastically, ignoring her admonistrations as he lifted himself up off the ground and clattered past her into the shop, where Logan was staring bewilderedly.

He was mostly together this time, only a few missing ribs and metatarsals. He was making significant improvements, the first time he managed to escape SHOP and sneak the whole way down the street to see her, he was dragging himself along with one arm, his spine snapped in two and both legs missing. He had scared the teenage girl she was helping out of her senses. She ran out of the shop screaming before Arty had a chance to hand her back her purchases.

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" He sounded surprised and concerned or maybe angry. She was beginning to take notice of the very subtle changes in tone he used whenever he shouted, 'We're all going to die!' She still couldn't understand him, per say. But she could at least determine what sort of emotion he was conveying. The rest she kind of made up as it suited her. This time however his hollow eye sockets were trained in on Logan. He clearly recognized him, and there was something undeniably accusing about the way his skull turned back and forth between the two of them. Undoubtedly he had heard the whole sordid affair from Atlas and was trying to judge whether or not he needed to rescue her. The last thing she needed was for him to try and jump in to act as her knight-in-bony-armor.

"No, Rudolph. Everything is fine. I can handle it."

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" She presumed he was trying to impress upon her the dangerousness of this Logan character, and was perhaps offering to disembowel him with his left ulna. It was sweet in a sort of grotesque way. But she had just decided that she was going to try and be friendly with Logan, and at any rate she really didn't feel like explaining to Sofia why her ex was found dead in her shop next to a skeletal doomsday prophet.

"I appreciate that Rudolph, but it's really unnecessary. I'm sure Mr. Fletcher is rather attached to his small intestines, even if you find them to be a useless organ.”

"Logan this is Rudolph, Rudolph--Logan." She said by way of introduction, with a helpless shrug towards the former.

"No Sudden Movements" She silently mouthed behind Rudolph's back.

Arty pulled out her wand and Logan did the same. He had an urge to jump in front of her so that he was the first to encounter whatever was outside, but the fact that Arty was a capable witch aside it looked like she had dealt with things crashing around her shop before. Any attempts to be heroic on his party would likely just end up making him look foolish, and thus defeat the purpose of their execution. There was no sense in sabotaging himself just as he was making progress, so he contented himself with providing back-up.

"It's probably nothing. A confused owl or something."

A confused owl indeed. Logan had previously lacked the trademark paranoia of reclusive geniuses, if only because he hadn't cared about the actions of other people, but he'd certainly developed it since quitting his job at the Ministry. Living in Rowling Terrace with much of London's wizarding population didn't help. His neighbors had started leaving notes and things with threats in varying degrees of severity. Logan's only response had been to add an immediate alert charm and to make his security spells automatically reset whenever the door was shut.

"Rudolph!"

Rudolph? The name sounded oddly familiar. Either way, Arty no longer sounded threatened, so Logan lowered his wand and stepped back into the shop. He didn't need to be standing over her should while she dealt with someone who was either very old or very young. Late husband Walter...old, then. Logan resisted the urge to go and ask the man if age or dementia affected his ability to use magic at all. Logan liked to ask such questions when he could, because he'd never observed a witch or wizard who was so old or batty that they couldn't use magic, although he knew that Muggles often suffered from such severe complications of aging that they became completely helpless. Logan's question was whether or not this was because of magic or other factors associated with wizarding blood.

There was a clattering and Logan looked up from his reverie to see--

A skeleton.

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE," said the skeleton. Logan raised an eyebrow and blinked.

What an interesting dimension to the question I was just asking, he thought. It seems that some wizarding bodies remain animated so far into aging that death has no effect on them. Obviously this has nothing to do with blood, though. Something in the very bones themselves? I wonder if he would let me test them. I wouldn't take anything incredibly necessary, just a lower rib. Their only purpose is to protect organs and since he no longer has any of those I can't imagine he'll put up much of an argument.

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" he said again, and this time his tone was different. He seemed to be...glaring at Logan. Obviously it was impossible, since he no longer had the facial muscles necessary to create a glare, but nevertheless Logan felt the sensation of anxiety usually associated with being glared at. How fascinating. Not only was this skeleton still animated, it could speak and even convey emotion!

He listened carefully to the exchange between Arty and Rudolph. Her prior experience with him seemed to give her greater understanding of his meaning. Was that one phrase all he could say? That was slightly disappointing. Still, it was more than most other skeletons could boast of.

"Logan this is Rudolph, Rudolph--Logan."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Rudolph," Logan said, trying to keep the incredulity out of his face. The skeleton was still glaring at him, so he tried to think of some way to change the subject and lighten the mood. "Maybe you can help me with something. I've been, er, invited to a party and I have nothing to wear; so, what..." He reached out slowly and grabbed the first thing his hand touched...which turned out to be a sparkling military-style jacket in red sequins with gemstone buttons. He tried not to grimace and held it up to him, dearly hoping that none of the glitter would rub off on him.

"...do you think of this?" he finished half-heartedly.

Meanwhile...

Margot walked carefully down the stairs from Atlas's apartment back into SHOP. The last time she had just barreled down them without looking, they'd shrunk on her and she'd tumbled down headfirst. Luckily the giant stuffed bear had somehow maneuvered itself to the staircase and been there to catch her, but she'd learned quickly not to trust the things in SHOP. Once she reached the bottom safely, she started to speak.

"Rudolph, I need to borrow one of your arms. One of the jinx books in the library is harassing the Muggle books, and it's getting quite angry since they aren't reacting to its taunts. I'd get it myself but it's just out of my reach--Rudolph?" She looked up and took a turn around the shop floor, looking for him. She'd almost made it around when she spotted the rib lying by the door.

"Rudolph!" she said wearily. She opened the door and started walking down to the Sinistras' shop.

There were very few instances where Artemis ever had to deal with Rudolph on her own. Usually, Atlas accompanied him or Apollo was around to help with the translations. Well, she was pretty sure that Apollo made the stuff up half the time just to cause her more irritation. He was absolutely set on seeing her go out to dinner with the animated skeleton one of these days. She had tried to point out the folly of his plan since Rudolph clearly had no stomach, and no need to eat, but that just led him to suggest taking in a concert instead, perhaps the Grateful Dead.

She had to say that Logan was taking the whole talking skeleton thing rather well. In fact, after the initial shock began to wear off she could see him inspecting Rudolph with a certain amount of interest. She supposed in his own way, Rudolph was probably an interesting case study especially for a mind as inquisitive as Logan’s. She had on more than one occasion wondered what exactly he was. The sprits of the departed came back as ghosts, they didn’t inhabit their former bodies. Of course most of the time she was too concerned with fending off his advances to make the proper inquiries. Atlas might have been able to tell her, but more often than not his descriptions of how he acquired the contents of his shop left her head spinning.

"Maybe you can help me with something. I've been, er, invited to a party and I have nothing to wear; so, what..." He turned to the rack of clothes nearest him and grabbed the first thing that his hand landed on. It was a military jacket that Apollo had picked up at a thrift store in muggle London. In its original form it would only have seemed odd on Logan if you didn’t know he had nothing to do with the military. Its base was dark, with white piping and it had a nice fitted cut that probably would have shown of his figure to an advantage, but after extensive bedazzlification the idea of Logan wearing it seemed ludicrous. The once tarnished brass buttons now sparkled with paste jewels, and he arms glittered with red sequins.

"...do you think of this?" He fizzled out looking at the jacket with abhorrence. He held it a bit away from him as though expecting it to somehow contaminate him. Arty bit her lower lip trying desperately not to laugh, which was a far cry from her emotions only a few minutes earlier.

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

Rudolph seemed unimpressed, though whether this was because he disliked the jacket or Logan she couldn’t quite guess. It was a bit difficult to tell when he could only portend their demise.

"I'm not sure he likes it." She deadpanned.

Rudolph turned away from his pseudo-glaring at Logan to look at the object of his affection. His bony hand shot out and grabbed hers, pulling it up in what she supposed should have been a kiss, but the gesture was lost since he didn't actually have any lips. Instead, it was just creepy and unpleasant, and she didn't feel all that rude when she jerked her hand out of his grasp. What did he think he was doing? Marking his territory or something? Appearently men were ridiculous even in death.

"Now Rudolph, we've discussed this." She snipped irritated. " Personal. Space. Bubble. The answer is still no. You're far too old for me. Does Atlas even know you're here?"

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE."

"I'm not sure he likes it."

"Fair enough," Logan said, stuffing the jacket immediately back into the rack of clothing. Keeping one eye on the skeleton, he busied himself with picking something else out until finally Rudolph looked away from him. At that, Logan turned back to fully face the skeleton so he could better observe the creature. He regretted the fact that he had stopped keeping a notebook on his person; he should have known he'd run into something interesting like this. He had a perfectly good memory and would remember everything long enough for him to get home again, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

He turned back just in time to see Rudolph take Arty's hand and press it up against his teeth in--a kiss? Arty immediately yanked her hand back and Logan slowly stepped forward, closer to Arty than to Rudolph and slow enough that the skeleton didn't seem to notice. It seemed that Rudolph had the ability to convey more than one emotion, if his apparently romantic gestures towards Arty were any indication. Logan would be able to ask Arty later if he could in fact display a basic spectrum of human feelings. His desire to study the skeleton grew. But now he felt the need to ask...where had it come from? Did it actually have its own house, perhaps a job?

"Now Rudolph, we've discussed this. Personal. Space. Bubble. The answer is still no. You're far too old for me. Does Atlas even know you're here?"

"Atlas? He belongs to Atlas?" Logan repeated. "Bugger. Atlas is not fond of me at all." And not likely to let me in to study any of his possessions, Logan thought. He'd tried examining things, just in passing, during the one or two trips he'd made to SHOP since working at the Ministry, and Atlas had reacted poorly. Logan chuckled and smiled at Arty. "Now we know why he seems to dislike me so much."

At that moment, a young brunette girl opened the door, looking around calmly. She spotted the skeleton and walked over to him, grabbing his bony shoulder.

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" Rudolph moaned.

"No, only you, Rudolph," the girl said. She had an American accent. "You give Artemis long enough and I'm sure she'll find a way to kill you again." She turned and gave Arty a small smile. "I'm so sorry, Artemis. I had to go to the bathroom and obviously I couldn't take him with me to watch him. He'd been very good all day--I should have known he was planning something."

"Atlas? He belongs to Atlas?" Logan repeated. "Bugger. Atlas is not fond of me at all. Now we know why he seems to dislike me so much."

Artemis shrugged non-commitally, she wasn't aware that Logan and Atlas had ever had very much communication. But she thought it was pretty safe to assume that Atlas wouldn't be fond of Logan, as one of the primary minds behind that curse. Atlas could be incrediably scatterbrained and paranoid but he had a firm grounding in what was right and wrong. A spell that steals your soul fell solidly under the latter.

"I couldn't say, he's very loyal to Atlas. Though he tends to have a mind of his own."

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

Suddenly, the shop door swung open with a twinkle from the little silver bell, and there stood her savior int he form of a petite brunette. Her name was Margot, and Arty liked to think of her as Atlas' newest addition to his collection of oddities. She was supposedly a squib, though Artemis sometimes questioned whether or not htis was true. For a girl that supposedly grew up in the wizarding world she sometimes forgot some rather basic things. Nevertheless, she did have one rather extraordinary talent--she could understand Rudolph. Not in the way that Arty and Apollo or even Atlas understood him. A series of guesses based on the scenario at the time, but could understand precisely what it was that Rudolph was trying to convey.

Arty had rather hoped that upon meeting a woman who could actual understand him, Rudolph's affections would shift from herself to Margot. But alas her dreams never materialized , he just seemed more inclined to try and use Margot as a medium to express his love to Artemis. Margot at least seemed to understand why Arty was not inclined to accept his advances and generally tried to keep him from making these unexpected visits to harass her.

"No, only you, Rudolph,you give Artemis long enough and I'm sure she'll find a way to kill you again."

Arty laughed goodnaturedly, "There's a few de-animation spells that might do the trick. Betty might be able to tell me, if I could get Grandpa to ask her."

"I'm so sorry, Artemis. I had to go to the bathroom and obviously I couldn't take him with me to watch him. He'd been very good all day--I should have known he was planning something."

Rudolph was giving them both a very long suffering sort of look. He was starting to become accustomed to these jokes at his expense. She would have felt bad normally, but really he just couldn't take a hint.

"Don't worry about it Margot, he just took me by surprise this time. Perhaps in the future you could send me a little notice before you drop by Rudolph."

-------
(OOC: Bleh sorry for the craptasticness)

"There's a few de-animation spells that might do the trick. Betty might be able to tell me, if I could get Grandpa to ask her."

Logan didn't know who Betty was, but it didn't matter. The moment Arty mentioned de-animation the former Unspeakable had started contemplating the possibilities. De-animation was different from petrification in that rather than simply calcifying the object it actually removed the intangible cause of motion, usually a spell.

He doubted that a spell was the source of Rudolph's animation. The skeleton seemed to have a personality; while animated things occasionally developed apparent behavioral traits (the Monster Book of Monsters came to mind) they tended to be extremely limited, usually just one dominating attribute. Rudolph had already displayed affection, jealousy, annoyance, and was now showing resignation. This indicated to Logan that his animation was rooted in something much more complex; indeed, he was becoming rapidly convinced that a human soul still inhabited Rudolph's skeleton.

His urge to probe for the soul was almost overwhelming, but he quickly marshaled it into submission and focused very hard on a rack which held sets of ornamental wings to be attached to one's back. He doubted, first and foremost, that Atlas would let him do anything to Rudolph. Besides, he had had quite his fill of the study of souls, and was ready to let go the topic. He would find another outlet for his burning curiosity. He would.

"Perhaps in the future you could send me a little notice before you drop by Rudolph."

"It would be the gentlemanly thing to do," Logan said thoughtfully. He started as Rudolph spun around and turned his unforgiving, gaping, eyeless sockets on the poor ex-Unspeakable. "Erm, not to imply that you're not a gentleman."

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE."

"He says you need to wash your hair," Margot translated dully. "And also that your cloak could use some pinstripes."

"Well, at least I still have hair," Logan replied immediately, somewhat affronted. "It's all well and good for him to criticize the hygiene of others when he no longer has any oil-secreting glands of his own. And as far as pinstripes go I think he's absolutely cracked." He shook his head and turned to Arty with a small, almost incredulous smile.

"But then, I'm hardly aware of what's fashionable. What do you think, Arty?" he asked, fanning his cloak out. "Would it be an improvement?

The scene unfolded before her a bit like a boxing match, minus the physical blows and adding of course the fashion dimension. It started out with a smart-allecky comment from Logan, following Arty's request that Rudolph give her more warning when he decided to drop by.

"It would be the gentlemanly thing to do," As if suddenly realizing that he had just uttered 'fightin' words' he quickly backed off, obviously not certain he was ready to engage in what was sure to be a brutal fight. "Erm, not to imply that you're not a gentleman."

But the punch had already been thrown, accidental or otherwise, and Rudolph was not about to take it lying down. His honor was at stake, as well as his 'man-hood.' This could very well be the showdown that won fair Arty's heart! And he was not about to let that fashion-idiot, with a conspicously absent moral code have her!

He swung back with the ever classic--WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! What he lacked in creativity he made up for in fervor as his familiar refrain reached new heights at a higher more disdaneful decible! But as an added kick, dear Margot was there to translate the dreadful slur!

"He says you need to wash your hair. And also that your cloak could use some pinstripes."

Arty's internal umpire scored the pair thus:

Rudolph: 1 Logan: .5

Logan docked of course for his apologies.

But those few remarks from Rudolph seemed to light a previously unknown fury in Mr. Fletcher who could not stand to see himself further slandered in front of the lovely Miss Sinistra! With a vicious blow from the side he offered a sudden and scathing retort:

"Well, at least I still have hair!"

Ohhh...harsh!

Rudolph: 1 Logan: 1.5

It's all well and good for him to criticize the hygiene of others when he no longer has any oil-secreting glands of his own. And as far as pinstripes go I think he's absolutely cracked." Logan added spitefully.

Rudolph just about got whiplash over those comments! If he had eyebrows they surely would have been furrowed in anger and disbelief. As if this one outfit wonder had any idea what was considered fashionable! Logan quickly turned to umpire Arty to see if his last comment would be accepted by the judge!

"But then, I'm hardly aware of what's fashionable. What do you think, Arty?" he asked, fanning his cloak out. "Would it be an improvement?"

Umpire Arty glanced between the two opposing sides, this decision could determine the outcome of the match folks! Were Rudolph's rash fashion put-downs on the mark? Or has he lost his fashion saavy along with the girl, to the lonely scientist?

"For your trousers...yes. But the pinstripe is meant to emphasize length, sliming the figure and making them appear taller. I believe that this would be lost on a cloak that naturally fans out." She finally said with a shrug.

The two glanced at eachother, what did this mean for the outcome?

"So...yes to the pinstripe, but not on the cloak."

That's Half-points to both sides! Making the final score...

Rudolph: 1.5 Logan: 2

And the unemployed scientist wins!!

Logan listened as Arty expertly supported his rejection of the pinstripes and smiled at the logic of fashion, something he previously would have dismissed as frivolous and purely a question of personal aesthetics, unable to be governed by any sort of rule or law. It was certainly something that he had had no real taste for because of that opinion. His only desire when it came to his clothing was to find something that was functional and wouldn't get in his way.

Spending time with Arty (and occasionally with Apollo as a result) was certainly changing his perceptions of that. He was learning (more from Arty than from Apollo) that there were in fact governing principles in fashion, like the ones surrounding pinstripes. It was fascinating, because while there was still wiggle room for personal aesthetics, there were specific uses for the pinstripe: to add an instant professionalism, and as Arty had just explained to work an illusion on the body and give it the appearance of being thinner and more streamlined, and therefore more statistically attractive to potential partners.

"So...yes to the pinstripe, but not on the cloak."

"Well; half points anyway, Rudolph, old boy," Logan said, turning to smile at the skeleton, which was in itself sort of a surreal action. Slightly disconcerted, he turned and smiled at the girl, Margot, instead. She met his eyes with her own large, brown ones; though her mouth twitched slightly in what Logan could only assume was an attempt at a smile, her eyes were almost as expressionless as Rudolph's. It was creepier in a living human being and Logan looked away again, now at Arty.

"Come on back to SHOP, Rudolph," Margot said. "I need your help with something. See you later, Artemis," she added over her shoulder as she left the shop, leading a defeated Rudolph by the bony wrist. Logan watched them go and shook his head.

"Fascinating," he said. "Absolutely fascinating. Do you have any idea what kind of energy supports his existence? He seems far too complex to be the result of simple animation. It can't be magical, there are far too many factors. It has to be supernatural, somehow. The girl could be a medium; that would explain the clarity of her understanding of him." He trailed off, spacing out slightly as his mind continued this train of thought. After a second he caught himself and smiled apologetically at Arty.

"I'm sorry. It's habit to analyze everything," Logan said.