Post by Trevor Williams on Apr 15, 2011 13:52:27 GMT -8
Saturday, September 10, 2011
4:30 p.m.
Muggle London was one place Trevor had never found himself frequenting. Aside from The Abby and The Leaky Cauldron, he had no idea where much of anything was, which made his trek to find the studio of James Blackwold, merchant, all the more difficult. He had an address and a few scanty directions, but without a picture in his mind of the general area, it was difficult for the man to have any real idea of where he was going in such a large city. Nevertheless, he had apparated to the suggested location fifteen minutes earlier and began walking from there. So far, everything had matched up and wasn't too bad. Just one more turn, and he'd be there...if he ever reached said turn without getting hit by one of those blasted contraptions muggles liked to ride in that came zooming about every time he set foot on this particular blasted crosswalk!
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as one particularly rude driver began to speed up and honk his horn repeatedly as he finally attempted setting foot in the crosswalk again when all seemed clear. "And a good evening to you, too!" he muttered, making a rude hand gesture as the driver came into view. However, he had to stop rather hastily for the light (complete with a horrid screeching sound that made the lost wizard wince)--not that Trevor quite caught the correlation. Sure, that strange hanging light turned from green to yellow to red, but why did he stop? Huh. Strange, but whatever. No traffic from any direction. Fancy that. Giving the stopped driver another rude hand gesture and fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at him, Trevor crossed the street, having to stop as one car turned right suddenly, but at least the car after stopped for him and urged him on rather impatiently. Trevor didn't argue and finished his crossing in one piece, a fact that seemed miraculous to the man.
As soon as he was across, Trevor straightened his tie and continued down the road a ways before finally coming to the turn he needed. Chancery Lane. Now to find number 94. Ah, there it was, and what a nice store front it was, too. Not too fancy but not too shabby. He approached the door, and moments later, opened it, only to have some man exit looking rather happy with whatever it was in the bag he carried. "Good afternoon," he said to the secretary at the desk. "Is Mr. Blackwold in?"