The wind picked up for a moment, surging around the impediment it met in the stands in the form of a young blonde boy. It buffeted his hair and clothing as it maneuvered around him. With a weary motion, he pushed his hair out of his face again. His mother would have dragged him by the ear to get it cut by now, no matter how old he was; but she was in France and he was on his own. Since he could have it his way now, he was going to wait until the length of his hair was absolutely unbearable before he paid for a haircut--and even then, he would probably cut it himself. He could handle a little hair in his face if it meant saving a little money.

He smoothed the newspaper in his lap and scanned it to find his place on the page, which he'd lost thanks to the wind. There were certainly plenty of ads for apartments in Rowling Terrace, but all these ads evinced a significant lack of real information. From what Gabe understood, his English still being a tad schoolbook, he would have to go to the office and speak directly with the landlord. Somehow, he doubted that would go over well. A seventeen-year-old foreigner, alone, who was also a half-blood with no magical ability? Shaking his head and muttering under his breath about stereotypes, he put The Daily Prophet back into his bag and pulled out a Muggle newspaper.

After fussing with the pages for a few minutes trying to find the housing ads, he flicked the paper into order and smoothed it down over his knees, bending over it to block the light and read it. He probably needed glasses too, but he didn't drive and he could always get closer to anything he needed to read, so that wasn't something to spend money on. Doctors and spectacles were expensive.

He quickly scanned the prices on the first page of ads and flipped to the next one. He had a decent amount of money, enough to secure a cheap apartment and pay for the first month or two, but he needed to find a job quickly. He wondered if there were any strip clubs in London that needed a backstage manager, but he forgot that idea quickly. Even if there were, there was no way they would hire him no matter how many years he'd spent backstage. He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face again. Being seventeen was just too troublesome.

Being seventeen could be very troublesome. Who knew that becoming an adult would entail so many life changes? She had known about the school ending thing, yes, and that had been a mixed bag of feelings even before all of the repercussions of growing up had occurred to her. She missed her American friends dreadfully. Though she adored how she would never again have to worry about passing exams or handing in essays to teachers who thought their time was more valuable than hers. School was just so...blah compared to the other things she could be doing. Daisy could manage her time much better than those dowdy old teachers, thank you very much.

Like right now, she was holding her old broom--an average type from America that had served her well over the years--and standing at an almost professional field in England. She was going places! She was experiencing things!

She was also rather hungry. As soon as her fly was over and she got some exercise, she was going to find the cutest little pub or coffee shop around, order a cider, and chat with the locals whilst designing brilliant new fashions on paper napkins that would someday grace the runways of London.

There were few people at the field besides the American girl. It was too cold for a long flight. A father with his children, a girl of about eleven, another girl a few years younger, and a boy who couldn't have been over six, each held their own brooms. The father would try to instruct the younger girl, and every time the boy would fly after his elder sister, who had a full sized broom for the first time. Unfortunately the little boy was so bundled in clothing that he tended to fall off more than fly.

Daisy laughed and waved. With her earmuffs clapped on to block out the cold she felt quite perfect. She made a note to write down 'non-bulky, heated winter clothing' in her idea notebook. And she was off; after only a few turns around her face felt as if it would forever be frozen in a grinning expression. At least she was somewhat used to the cold, living in Salem and all.

After the third turn she noticed a guy her age sitting in the stands. Why would he want to read the newspaper? Is he cute? It's so hard to tell from this distance...

Without really thinking about what she was doing, she flew closer, slowed down, and peered at him. When he dropped the paper her eyes widened--he was cute--and sped up again.

Oh my gosh oh my gosh. Now I'll HAVE to talk to him!

Well, there was nothing to it. She had her lucky earmuffs on and she was going to frickin' freeze if she kept this up. After another spin around, complete with somewhat show-offy rolls and turns, she touched down. And promptly tripped.

Stupid feet. She could have had a modeling contract by now if it weren't for her ghastly stumbly feet. And her atrociously low height...and her boringly brown coloring. Sigh.

At least she had the lucky earmuffs. They always made her feel better.

"Hello," she said to the cute boy, after trudging up to where he sat. She gave him what she hoped was an approachable, not-too-wind chapped smile. "Whatcha reading about?"

"Hello. Whatcha reading about?"

Whatcha? Gabe heard the word, not immediately registering that hearing it spoken meant that someone was trying to address him, and looked up from the paper with a quizzical expression on his face. It clicked immediately, based on the context of the rest of the sentence (which he understood easily), that what the person had meant to say was "what are you," but the mangled squish of words threw him for a moment. He noticed too that the accent was not British but American, and the voice was entirely too peppy and high-pitched.

He turned, finally, to look at the speaker. The girl before him was quite as culturally squished as her words were. Being exotic meant good tips at the strip club, so the girls constantly talked about their respective heritages. Almost every ethnicity was covered, so Gabe had some experience with recognizing ethnic traits. Whoever she was, the girl definitely had some Asian blood and if her cheekbones were any indication, some Native American mixed in there as well. She looked very young, which was partially because of her face and partially because of the bright-eyed expression she was giving him.

"I am reading the newspaper," he said flatly in his subdued voice, his French accent noticeable but not overpowering. He looked back down, fully intending to end the conversation there and go back to his search. After a moment of thought, though, he looked back up at her. She had asked what he was reading about, after all, not just what he was reading. "The classifieds. I am trying to find an apartment in London," he added.

He flicked the paper like he was about to start reading it again, but his eyes didn't seem to have gotten the memo. They were fixed on the girl. Not only was her expression of joy bewildering, and not only was the combination of her features aesthetically fascinating, but she was wearing neon green earmuffs. Gabe had certainly seen some strange fashion choices at the club (and around Paris in general, particularly during Fashion Week), but they were usually interesting and occasionally flattering. These earmuffs were neither. He wasn't sure what to think of them, but he found himself smirking at them all the same.

"I am reading the newspaper."

Any offense she might have felt at his words was utterly extinguished by the fact that he was speaking with a French accent. Besides being a complete novelty to her, the accent was also ridiculously hot. Why of course you're reading the newspaper, you sensitive Frenchman you! she thought in her mind; the mental Daisy also batted her eyelashes and playfully smacked his delicious foreign shoulder.

The real Daisy grinned stupidly, like a fifteen year old boy, and said "Oh really?"

"The classifieds. I am trying to find an apartment in London."

How responsible of him!

"How re--" think Daisy, think! You're wearing your lucky earmuffs for God's sake! "--much of a coincidence is that!? I'm looking for an apartment too! Well, actually, I'm not anymore because I found a job at this shop and Zimmerman is letting me rent out a room there on Diagon..." Cue nervous laughter. "This cold is making my tongue freeze up, haha! What I mean is that I'm new here too. I'm American! Go USA! Go Salem! That's where I'm from, haha! You must be French. You sound really French."

Daisy plopped her freezer burnt body down next to the guy on the bleachers.

"I'm Daisy. Daisy Li."

A full minute later she realized she was staring at him unblinkingly. Her eyes immediately wandered away, as if she were admiring the clouds, and she applied lip balm with a perfectly innocent expression on her face and brown orbs raised toward the heavens. Her cheeks felt as if they were attempting to burst into flames, as did her ears. She hoped that they gave her more of a rosy glow than an embarrassed burn.