jailhouse rock [tag; arkadiy]

"Ce n'était pas moi!"

The screech of French came from a tall girl who was being marched down a dimly lit corridor, her hands secured tightly behind her back in a pair of stainless steel handcuffs. Actually, it was her. Though, not on purpose, which was why she felt this was a little bit overboard. What had happened was pretty simple. She and her husband decided to visit the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. Why? Because they'd had a pretty nice day and they sometimes had later opening hours during the summer months. Plus, she wanted to show him Venus and Mars by Bottticelli up close. Apparently, too close.

To make things worse, they'd over stayed their welcome. So engrossed as she usually got when excited, she lost track of time and the gallery had closed half an hour previously, leaving them both free to roam around, like a private tour.

Not a single security guard had turned up so Florence lead Arkadiy deeper into the gallery, figuring they could always hide if someone came across them later on. She felt like she was in wonderland. All of these beautiful, centuries old paintings hung up like a private show. Florence broke into a jog, sprinting through room and corridors, giggling all the way like she was a child again. She was desperate to find it. There was a temporary exhibition about both Michelangelo and Sebastiano, the painters and sculptors who found fame in renaissance Rome. They'd become friends and collaborated on some of the most beautiful works of art that the world had ever seen.

In short, there were sketches and correspondence between the artists on show and Florence was willing to kill to see Michelangelo's handwriting in person.

She'd found it, skidding to a halt, her rubber soles squeaking in protest as she stopped. Tucked into a little side wing, there was a sketch of David, next to an ancient slip of paper with his plans for the marble. Due to their earlier conversation, she wanted to show her husband just what David was about. Florence was stunned, feeling like all of her Christmases had come at once. She ran right over, eyes wide and childlike, her nose almost pressed to the glass as she hungrily read the words. It didn't even matter that she couldn't read Latin. She didn't care. It could have been his damned shopping list and she'd still be going gaga over the manly slant and expressive curves on his letters.

Then, she'd accidentally touched the glass and all Hell broke loose.

Out of nowhere, two big security guards dressed in blue appeared. They yelled for them to step away but she was unwilling. After all, she hadn't really done anything. Before she knew it, they were on some sort of strange electrical device and the lights came on, she could hear the clanking of doors as though metal had been slammed over them. Shuttered rolled down over the large windows, shutting out the bright London lights and she was trapped. She'd yelled for Arkasha to leave and whether he did or not, she was unsure because before she knew it, she'd passed out. She remembered feeling a shock of electricity.

Florence had awoken twenty minutes later, bumping along in the back of a Muggle police van with the worse headache imaginable. Unceremoniously, she was hauled out of the back and marched to the main desk. Her English was pretty bad but she guessed they wanted her name so naturally, she gave a fake one. Theresa Green. And they didn't even get the joke.

Personally, Florence thought they were being a little heavy handed. She wasn't going to steal it or cause any damage, she'd just misjudged the situation. It was late. It must be close to midnight. She didn't know because they'd taken all her jewellery off her, including her watch and both her wedding rings with the promise that she'd be able to get them back later. The sound of a heavy lock being opened made her wince, the thick and cumbersome door opened to reveal a pretty dire cell. The walls were covered in cream coloured tiles and there was an uncomfortable looking mattress beneath a window. It wasn't really a window, though, it was just a big open space with bars in it.

The officer gave a small push in the small of her back that sent her stumbling forward and she paused to glance over her shoulder and shoot him daggers. With a smile, he locked the door behind her, causing her to kick it angrily and instantly wishing she hadn't. Out came a string of colourful swear words as she hopped around angrily before cutting her losses before sitting down on the bed heavily and scowling.

The usual handcuffs she wore were the little fluffy ones for private times but the cold metal was cutting into her delicate skin and the more she moved, the more it dug in. Becoming frustrated, Florence let out a heavy sigh. How long she'd been sitting there, she didn't know. An hour, maybe two. Suddenly, a loud bang shunted her forward, causing her to land on her knees as she winced. The force had sent her forward as they walls shook, little bits of plaster coming off the ceiling and landing in her hair like snowflakes.

Staying silent, Florence could hear raised voices outside her door and her corridor. Possibly some grunts. There was a flash of light before the lights in the entire police station flickered and then plunged her into darkness as they failed. Then, there was silence. The artist stood up and looked around her still locked cell, letting out her breath in a tired sigh. "Merde."


@Arkadiy Malenkov

Up until now, Arkadiy Maksimovich had been priding himself as the World's Best Husband. He was pretty certain that he would have to relinquish that title now that his wife had somehow managed to be arrested and he hadn't. And not just any type of arrested, but muggle-y so. And in England.

Things were dire.

He still wasn’t sure how it had happened. One minute they were standing there, hand in hand, oohing and ahhing at some random scraps of paper on the wall. They had been in a gallery of sorts, though Arkasha was having a hard time figuring what the point of everything was. Florence had pointed at a sketch while filling him on how this is what she had meant when she had called him her David. He didn’t even get the chance to point out how anatomically inaccurate the comparison was, which really should have been the low point of their evening.

Instead, there had been a flurry of excitement, lots of running and tugging at his wife's hands to have her keep up, and when she told him to make a go of it, he had apparated away, assuming that she was right behind him.

It wasn't until he noticed the oversized, pink, and flowery bag he had slung across his shoulders that the true gravity of the situation sunk in. Like any good husband, he had been carrying his wife's purse for her. But unlike most good wives, Florence kept her wand stashed in her purse. The ten seconds that passed as he put it all together were, quite possibly, the worst of his life.

By the time he had relocated Florence, she was being loaded into the back of a police vehicle, and there were far, far too many witnesses around to try any rescuing maneuvers. He spent the next few minutes following the van as best as he could, feeling fairly confident in his tracking abilities once he saw her being marched from the van to the inside of the building. It was late, but not late enough that the police station was uncrowded. Arkasha paced back and forth in the square across the street, surely giving of the vibe of 'crazy vagrant' as he did so, constantly muttering to himself in Russian.

He knew what he had to do, but the question was: how? The most logical option was to go in and do things the legal way. But then there would be so many questions. Identification? Passport? English? Bail money? The first three things would be hard to come by in such a short amount of time, and the money issue would prove a problem too, having to wait for Gringotts to open in the morning for him to change out some money.

No, the simplest option was the magical one. Not to mention it was also the valiant, heroic, get-oneself-laid option.

A couple more hours passed as Arkasha formulated his plan. Slowly, lights in the buildings around him were going out. The number of pedestrians and vehicles on the road slowly thinned. Soon, Arkasha was the only person out on the nearly dark street.

It was now or never.

He was familiar enough with fuse boxes, having lived in muggle apartments a great handful of years. The lock on it was no issue, and neither was melting the wires and other assorted fun things. He watched with a smug face as the lights inside the building flickered, then kicked back on as their generator kicked in. But that, too, was no issue to take care of. Soon the whole police station was dark.

He stunned the officer that came to check on the generator, borrowed his hat, then slipped into the station through the back door. He was able to stun two more officers before anyone else noticed. He had to hand it to England, though, for not arming their officers. He would have been insane to try this in Russia. A  couple spells missed and ricocheted off the walls, eventually stripping some of the ceiling tiles and leaving one very obvious hole in the brick.

But it was either the adrenaline, the surprise, or his sheer amazing abilities, that let Arkasha be the last man standing, and if it hadn't been so dark, his smirk would have been obvious. He lit his wand as he surveyed the damage he had done. No one would die, surely, but he had been taught well enough that he was very confident in his ability to incapacitate. They had at least twenty minutes, maybe 15 for the big ones, before they started stirring. And Arkasha planned to be long gone before then, wife in hand.

He held his wand aloft as he peered through the small square windows of the closed cell doors, pulling himself back quickly as the beam of wandlight fell on the faces of people who were decidedly not his wife. He felt no need to offer an apology; surely these people were actual law breakers and deserved to have their hopes for escape dashed, especially a particular surly looking man, bald, bulky, and tattooed.

Arkasha skidded to a halt in front of the fifth door down the hall, peering in once more through the small door window, using the wand light to pick out the familiar outline of the woman inside the cell. “Hi, honey,” he said, a wild grin plastered on his face, his silhouette framed perfectly in the doorway. "Please excuse while I free you," he nodded excitedly. Once she had cleared herself from the path of destruction, he knocked the cell door from its hinges, going for the dramatic effect rather than the boring 'I'll just unlock the door, then' one.

Florence chewed on her lower lip anxiously. It was all a bit quiet, come to think of it. Whatever kerfuffle had seemingly passed, leaving the corridors cold and silent. In the dark, she squinted. She'd spent enough time in the cell to know where abouts things were but she wasn't particularly that keen on spending time in the dark. In fact, she'd used a night light until she was fifteen and had trouble sleeping without Arkasha next to her. Her thoughts drifted to her husband briefly. She hoped he was okay. She hoped that he'd done exactly what she'd asked him to; hunker down and stay there.

"Arkasha?"

The wand light slapped her in the face and forced her to wince, blinking rapidly but there was no mistaking her husband's cheekbones, even in the dim light, they looked like they could cut glass. Had he been the one to shut down all of the lights? Him, her sweet, mild-mannered, cutesy husband turned…vigilante?

"Hi baby," Florence replied softly, still in a bit of a daze but she managed to crack a lopsided grin in response to his. This was insane. It was way too much but she loved it. It was like a constant exhilarating thrill ride. It was wild and Arkadiy got her blood pumping in such an exquisite way, it was rather incomparable. He was like this gorgeous manic dream. She knew she loved him but in that moment, stuck in a dank police cell, it was like the clouds had shifted and she saw just how much she was completely head over heels for him.

Swiftly, the tall blonde backed up and out of the way. She let out a squawk of surprise as the door was blown right off the hinges, the metal groaning and an almighty bang! as it toppled and landed on the cold stone floor. Coughing as the dust assaulted her nostrils, it was like a scene out of a movie. Or an erotic romance novel. The dust and splinters of wood fell around him like snow, landing on his broad shoulders in such a way that it left her totally breathless. All she could hear was her own blood pumping in her ears and her hormones going into overdrive.

Happy as a lamb, Florence skipped over to Arkadiy, leaning onto her tiptoes to kiss him. "Do the honours?" She asked. Quickly, she turned so her back was to him, her hands still cuffed uncomfortably at the small of her back. Once freed, she rubbed her wrists, annoyed at the marks they left. Without saying a word, she neatly folded the handcuffs and slipped them into her pocket, casual as she liked and offered him a bright, beatific smile. Those were for another time. "Thanks for coming to get me. Keep that hat," she joked, kissing him on the cheek and poking the police man's cap.

It was like her brain went into overdrive. Arkasha still had her bag and she stifled a giggle as she rifled through it to extract her wand before stalking down to the reception. "They took my rings," she grunted, skipping over two of the prone police man as she opened a door and stepped inside. A simple alohamora opened up the safe where various things were kept after they'd been taken from prisoners; jewellery, watches, other…stuff. It didn't take long for her locate the wedding ring and her other wedding ring. Pausing, she slipped them onto the ring fingers of both of her hands, putting the rings back where they belonged before she paused. Like a magpie, she saw a pair of beautifully shiny diamond earrings in a clear sealed bag. "They won't miss these, will they?" She asked her husband before shrugging and pocketing those, too.

Blowing at her long blonde hair, she paused to kiss him again. "I love you," she told him firmly. "I hadn't told you that today, sorry," she said with a frown, as though annoyed with herself before she took his hand and pulled him with  her. "Okay, okay," she said, muttering to herself as she looked around.

Florence pulled out her wand again and pointed at the knocked out policeman. "Obliviate," she said, directing her spell towards one and then the other. Though she'd used it before, her spell work at times could be a little…wonky. The spell she'd cast should (and would) remove any memory of her, her husband and the museum. Anything from five hours ago. They wouldn't remember her face or her voice. With any luck, they'd just have the feeling of walking into a room and having the distinct niggling that they'd forgotten something.

"Is that everyone?" Florence asked Arkasha with a smile. "Oh hold on." Letting go of his hand, she ducked behind the reception and pulled out the logbook. It took a few seconds to find her fake name and she ripped out the page, set it on fire and delicately dropped it into a waste paper basket. Then, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief. Stepping back to her husband, she grinned broadly, removed his hat and placed it on her own head before striking a pose, seemingly undaunted by what she'd just done. "Did we ever play good cop, bad cop?" Florence asked before wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Arkasha uncuffed his wife with ease, not bothering to hide his excitement as she sticked them in her pocket. “Of course,” he replied swiftly to both things she said, congratulating himself and his choice to don the hat in the first place. “I am happy you like,” he said with a grin. He followed her down the hallway, only pausing once to make a face at the tattooed man from before as he walked by. But all his glee was lost when she explained what had happened, specifically, that they had taken her rings. The two wedding rings that he had bough and/or stolen for her. He tried to watch Florence while also watching the room, doing his best to ensure that everyone was still well and truly unconscious.

Honestly, if she hadn’t stolen the earrings for herself, he would have done it for her. he merely shrugged, watching her with awe as she straightened up from rummaging through the safe, wrapping his arms firmly around her as she came back to him. He could recall at least five times that she had told him he loved him that day, but he didn't see the need to correct her. But it was a swift kiss and he didn’t have time to protest before she was pulling him along with her. Somehow he didn’t mind her taking charge.

Arkasha watched with wide eyes and a lopsided grin as his wife — his wife! — obliviated every single police officer on the floor. He couldn’t even think of the words necessary to offer to help, instead watching with a dumbfounded look on his face, letting himself be pulled along with her in her wake. This was a very specialized, not very legal kind of magic, and while they had once stolen just a couple pieces of jewelry from Les Puces, he really hadn’t pegged her as one for over-the-top illegal activity.

He was falling more in love with her every second of every day.

“What?” He honestly had no idea what she had just said, having been too transfixed on watching her float from officer to officer, pointing her wands at their heads, collecting memories like seashells. “Okay,” he nodded, still unsure what he was agreeing to. But as he watched her set fire to a notebook page, it became pretty clear even someone as brilliant as he could forget some minor details when it came to plans such as these. He had never had to break a wife out of jail before, but if it happened again — or when, he supposed — he wouldn’t be so careless.

He returned Florence’s grin, wiggling his own eyebrows right back as she asked her question. “No, we have not.” His hands quickly found her waist and he dipped his chin down to plant a trail of kisses down her neck. “I might not be familiar with the rules,” he breathed between kisses, pushing her back slowly until she was pressed up against the front desk. He wasn’t sure at what point, exactly, his priorities for this jailbreak had changed. His plan hadn’t progressed much further past rescuing his wife and he hadn’t considered the possibility of them lingering around the police station after he had been successful. But maybe just a few more minutes here wouldn’t be the worst idea.

His hands moved south, with the ultimate intention of helping her up onto the counter. He kissed her soundly, letting himself get a bit lost in the moment. He was sure if it was the adrenaline from being such a shockingly good husband, the adoration he felt towards his wife and her inner criminal, or the incredible lack of morality of the whole situation. But whatever it was, it was working.

And it would have kept working if every stunned police officer had been considerate enough to stay that way. But there was the slightest of movements that the Russian caught out the corner of his eye, thoroughly distracting him from his distraction. He peeled himself off of Florence rather reluctantly, heaving a sigh as he stupefied him one more time. He rolled his eyes as he brought his attentions back to more important things, offering a quiet, “Maybe we should go.”

Even in all of the madness, she didn't miss the look of uncertainty in her husband's eyes. Florence thought she really should have told Arkadiy that her morals weren't…really on the straight and narrow. She wasn't malicious. She was a good person and she didn't make a habit of doing this sort of thing but her parents had raised her to be independent and if that meant stealing a memory that no one else was going to miss, what was the problem? Sure, maybe she shouldn't have taken the earrings but she'd been falsely imprisoned and she was entitled to some sort of compensation.

It might be a bit of a deal breaker but it was too late now. They were married. In response, she offered him a sheepish smile and hoped he wouldn't question where she'd learned that trick. Her parents liked him and she hoped he liked them back so it wasn't really in anyone's interests to go poking a bear.

"No?" Florence asked, letting out a soft giggle as he kissed the length of her neck as she let out a sigh of pleasure. She was so totally and completely wrapped up in Arkasha. He was her everything and she didn't pay attention to anyone else. They lived in Paris, the capital of love and life and she was with the most amazing man she'd ever met. Letting her eyes slip to a close, she instantly relaxed as her hands came up to run slowly through his soft hair, catching bits of ceiling tiles and debris as she went along.

"I don't think there are any," she said lightly in response to the question about rules. One of her hands slid down the back of his neck gently as she applied a little bit of pressure, letting him know to keep his mouth exactly where it was as she curled her toes in her shoes whilst making soft sounds of appreciation. Following his lead, she moved backwards, the small of her back colliding clumsily with the edge of the desk. Smiling against his lips, she marvelled in the way they were able to read each other's bodies so easily. Arkadiy didn't play games and she appreciated it. Unless she asked him to but that was a private matter.

With ease, she hopped up onto the counter. She broke the kiss briefly before pulling him back in by his shirtfront. Around her, pens and paper slid off the desk and landed messily on the floor as her long legs looped around his waist casually. Off came the police hat, discarded, as her hands cupped his face. The police station was dark, cold and quiet. She was aware, vaguely, of their surroundings but as soon as she clapped eyes on her husband, he was the only thing she was focused on for sure. Out of habit, she was just about to take off her shirt when, instead of her husband's lips, cold air met her face and she opened her eyes.

"What?" Florence asked, still dazed as she squinted at him before he cast another spell. "Oh but we were --" she began, her big blue eyes looking sad as she pouted and frowned. "Doing the kissing thing," she concluded, making kissy faces at Arkasha to further demonstrate her point. And he was very good at doing the kissing thing.

"Good idea," she said briskly as she scooted off the desk, purposefully sliding her chest down his in their close vicinity. "Which way is out?" Florence asked. It for sure wasn't the way by the cells and she had no desire to revisit them. Looking back over her shoulder, it wasn't that bad. It just looked like a stray gust of wind had knocked the papers over. And the officers. And blew the doors off its hinges. Ah well.

Trusting he was close behind, Florence looked for outside light and found the foyer easily. Swiftly, she pushed open the door and took a deep breath. She'd only been in a cell for a few hours but it felt like a lifetime. She'd quite forgotten how rain smelt and the air felt. "I'm hungry," she told Arkasha swiftly. The fact that they hadn't even bothered to feed her was what perhaps pissed her off the most. "Chinese?" She asked him with a smile as she held out her hand if he wanted to take it. "I heard there was a great restaurant somewhere in London," she explained to him as they walked lazily down the road. "Apparently, they have really huge fortune cookies and koi carps that blow bubbles at you!" She enthused with wide eyes.

Arkasha wiggled his eyebrows as his wife made kissy faces at him, making a mental note to pick up where they had left off as soon as they were home. Or at least back in France. Or, most likely, just across the street from the ransacked police station they were currently standing in. But he nodded reluctantly, wanting to follow through on his idea of leaving before letting himself get any more distracted. It was only a matter of time before someone with a more magically-threatening weapon showed up to let them know they were in the wrong, and he really didn't want to be around anymore once that happened.

He helped Florence back to the ground, pulling her closer than necessary and getting a firm hold on her bum with both hands, offering a final wink and about to get properly distracted before she reminded him they were leaving. He pointed in the direction he had come in, but that way was littered with stupefied muggles and debris and darkness. Florence found the easier option; where was the harm in simply exiting through the front door? He replaced his borrowed police hat on his head and followed her out, casting a couple more precautionary spells at the bodies (still breathing, mind) on the floor as he moved past.

The absurdity of the whole situation didn't hit him until they were outside, chatting on the sidewalk like it was any other sort of regular day. That morning at Les Puces was exhilarating and completely illegal, yes, but this was on a whole different level. Sure, he had learned things in school and never felt morally or ethically uneasy about any of it, but the physical act of stunning someone to get something he wanted -- in this case, his wife -- had given him such a rush.

And how Florence had ever so casually modified the memories of half a dozen police officers without a second thought? He'd marry her all over again if he could.

He grinned and nodded at her suggestion for Chinese food, knowing she always enjoyed how terribly he pronounced the names of the dishes. He had no idea just where, exactly, in London they were, but he didn't let that stop him from taking his wife's hand and walking in the direction she picked. He wasn't going to ask if she knew where she was going; this was an evening for unplanned experiences, apparently.

They only made it a block or so down the street before he heard the first siren and he did his best to look as nonchalant as a grown man carrying a purse and wearing a police hat could possibly look. But their priorities were elsewhere, as they drove past to stop in front of the station. It might become a little obvious soon that the only two people out on the street close to the station might have something to do with its destruction, and Arkasha wasn't about to break his wife out of jail twice in one night.

He pulled her down a narrow sidestreet and kept walking until they were securely behind some bins. "I love walking with you, but can we apparate?" He grinned, ready to offer excuses for wanting to get the hell out of dodge, but as usual, Florence was too close and too distracting for him to get any words out. He pulled her the rest of the way to him and met her lips with his own, letting himself work out some of his pent up energy from before. He pulled back after a minute or too, still grinning. "You must teach me that memory charm, yes?" That would surely come in handy and he had no idea why he hadn't learned it yet.

Instinctively, she curled her fingers around her husband's, reciprocating his touch as she heard the wail of sirens. On the rain soaked street, the red and blue lights reflected on the puddles before she offered Arkadiy a wide grin. Swiftly, she gave him a tug, breaking into a gentle jog. They looked suspicious but then again, Florence always looked suspicious. She was too alert, with  her wide eyes and her jittery nature that bubbled over with enthusiasm. Currently, she was riding the wave of exhilaration and she was more than happy to follow him into a dark alleyway.

Rather than answering, her hands came up to cup his jaw lightly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him back swiftly. This seemed to be their new thing, kissing behind the bins like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling off the stolen cap so she could feel him properly. "Okay," she whispered with a smile. So much for going out for Chinese. She could apparate them back home and use the phone and get some food within half an hour.

It was a shame, though. She didn't know if Arkasha was familiar with her favourite restaurant. It was called The Forbidden City and it was on the wrong side of Paris, across the Seine and towards the questionable part of the city. Personally, Florence loved that part of town. It was off the beaten track, most tourists were warned not to go there by their hotel but she didn't know why. No harm had come to her just yet. It was full of tiny bars and restaurants. No one bothered her there.

The Forbidden City was a neon dream, the façade a ramshackle and poor imitation of the grand palace in Beijing. It was gaudy and loud and busy but the food was great and the drinks were cheap and she hoped Arkadiy might like it.

…something wasn't right.

With a bump, they landed in the middle of a crowded market place. No one turned to look as they barged past the pair, forcing Florence to grip his arm in confusion. The air smelt heavy, like warm food and smoke and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Around her, the narrow alleyway was packed. Full of stalls selling meat and cheap touristy knock-offs like fridge magnets and keyrings. The noise was overwhelming. Everyone was speaking Chinese.

Quickly, she stuffed Arkadiy's police hat into a nearby open bin. Nobody seemed to notice a young couple that had appeared out of thin air as they chatted. The noise of cars honking and utensils clattering made her look up at her husband with wide eyes. Without saying anything, she slowly made her way through the throng of people. It was pretty easy going, considering both she and Arkadiy were over a foot taller than everyone around her. Quickly, she stopped, people bumping into her but she didn't move.

It certainly wasn't midnight in Paris any more.

In front of, laid out majestically, was the Forbidden City. The real one, not the dodgy restaurant. She blinked. "Well shit," came the casual reply as she tilted her head. As she stood still, people giggled and began to take her photo excitedly, like she was some sort of exotic being. It was wide and beautiful, sitting regally in the early morning Chinese sunshine. Slowly, she turned to her husband and offered him a sheepish smile. "At least it's going to be authentic Chinese food?"

Too many things hit him all at once. People, smells, sounds, sun. It was a lot to take in, especially considering how quiet their own personal alleyway had been just seconds ago. “What?” Arkasha didn’t have time to finish his question about why she had stolen his hat from his head; before he knew it, it was in the bin. “I,” he started again, but she was moving. He followed suit, not noticing just how many differences there were between this neighborhood and the last.

He was much more interested in knowing why she had discarded the one thing he had stolen that evening, neglecting to notice the people staring up at him as he walked by, the couple that stopped to raise a camera at the pair of them. Somehow it made sense that people would want to photograph his wife. Who wouldn’t? He stopped beside her as she did, just about to ask if she knew where the restaurant was. The more he had been thinking about food, the more he realized that he really, really needed some.

“Shit,” Arkasha repeated, almost automatically. He didn’t know where they were and it was taking him a minute to regain his bearings. He wasn’t familiar with London at all, but the sudden appearance of daylight ruled out both the UK and the rest of Europe. Authentic food?

He reached for his wife’s arm and wrapped a firm hand around her forearm, equal parts to keep himself close to her and to not lose her in the crowd. “Are we…?” He trailed off as he looked around, noticing the little things he had missed the past few minutes, the signs written in an alphabet he wasn’t familiar with. “Is this…?”

It dawned on him suddenly. Authentic Chinese food. From China.

“Florence,” he started again, fixing his gaze on hers. He was trying to search for some sign on her face, to determine whether or not she had done this one purpose, but it didn’t look like she was holding in some hilarious joke he wasn’t privy to. He slowly started to smile, unable to feel anything but at peace when looking at her face. “I did not think breaking you out of jail would not be the most unusual thing to happen tonight.” He didn’t think that Florence could be any more perfect, yet every day she had proved him wrong.

He slid his hand down her arm, catching her smaller hands in his. He leaned forward to plant a light kiss on her forehead before pulling her forward excitedly into the crowd. “Food!” He said with urgency, not having to walk more than a few meters before finding a little stall lined with meat: meats on a stick, meats on a string, steaming meats in bowls. They didn’t have to go much further.

But of course, having initially intended to spend a quiet night at the art museum, Arkasha was fully unprepared to go shopping in China. He stopped short and pulled his wife close again, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “We are going to need some money.” He titled his head to the right, a large group of what he could only assume to be tourists. They had large cameras around their necks and one person in the group was holding up a sign with a paper flag stuck to it. “I think you owe me,” he added with another whisper, her lips brushing the lobe of her ear. He dropped his hands to her waist and gave it a light squeeze before pulling her back and giving her a wink.

"I'm so sorry," Florence whispered, looking pale as she swayed a little on the spot. She was stunned and confused as to how they'd ended up here. She distinctly remembered wanting to go to The Forbidden City for sesame seed toast, not The Forbidden City. She didn't need to look at Arkadiy to understand his surprise and presumably his anger. "That wasn't meant to happen," she added in a meek voice which sounded nothing like her own.

When he used her full name, she looked up, like a child about to be disciplined. Her full lower lip wobbled as hot tears stung her eyes. The last thing on earth she ever wanted to do was disappoint him. The jailbreak adrenaline had worn off and then the cold, hard realisation dawned on her, she felt a bit sick.

"Sorry," she said again softly, touched by his words as she offered a brittle smile. She took a deep, shaking but fortifying breath as he took her hands, shivering delicately at the slow touch of his fingers on her arm. She closed her eyes and relaxed, mumbling one more apology. They seemed to be attracting quite a big crowd. Not that she noticed. They'd always had this talent of finding a quiet moment in the middle of chaos. Or, in this instance, the middle of a foreign city.

Oh right. Food.

Promptly, her stomach gave a loud rumble as she sniffed the air curiously. It smelled strange but not in an unpleasant way. Her pale eyes scanned the street, unsure if she wanted to try that sticky candy apple red meat on a stick or noodles. When her husband's voice drifted into her ear, she smiled softly. Money. They didn't have any. She usually carried a little Muggle money with her but the few French francs she had wouldn't go that far here.

Always tactful, her gaze followed Arkasha's gaze to the gaggle of tourists, all gathered around in a circle. Biting her lip, she tried to hide her smile. She didn't want to steal anything but they were tourists and China was expensive to get to so she was sure there was a little extra cash in their pockets. She knew it was wrong but they were both hungry and it wasn't as though they were planning on completely cleaning them out.

His words sent a delicious thrill down her spine as her toes curled in her shoes. "I still have those handcuffs," she reminded him coyly. It was true, she did owe him, maybe more than he knew. Being lost in Beijing with no money or clues was infinitely better than being stuck in a dank old cell. Florence's skills didn't really go that far as pick pocketing. The worst she'd done up until that point was stealing a ring from Les Puces but that didn't mean she wasn't keen to learn.

Letting him squeeze her, she stayed put, her head tilted to the side curiously. Arkasha looked so in control and it was making her hormones skitter like a stone on a frozen lake. What did he want to do? Do it himself? Use her as a distraction? Whatever it was, she was game.

She trusted Arkadiy implicitly and she couldn't help but smile. The fact that he was willing to steal for her was so flattering and she wasn't one of those sticks-in-the-muds who did the right thing. If anything, Florence's moral compass didn't quite point true north but she wasn't vindictive. Staying still, she chewed on her lower lip. The initial flash of the camera bulbs had died down and everyone else had moved on to something else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple of crumpled red notes sticking out of a back pocket.

Florence had no idea of the exchange rate. Was a hundred peanuts or solid gold? Making the split decision, she moved forward. With a feather light touch, she stepped closer and delicately drew the notes up and out of the pocket and folding them securely in her palm. She turned her back and walked away swiftly, her long legs making it easier as she disappeared back into the crowd. They were both tall so it wasn't hard to find her husband. When she did, she held the red notes up and pulled a funny face, as though daring him to go one further.

She still had the handcuffs. He grinned, ready to call the whole thing off, to properly apparate them home to Paris and deal with this hunger thing later. But they were here, and he had already suggested pickpocketing, and there really wasn’t a better day to try out another illegal thing than one in which he was already breaking all sorts of laws. He smiled down at her and nodded firmly, dropping his hands from her waist and sticking them in the pockets of his trousers.

He turned to get a good look at the tourists, to find the perfect target. He had stolen pocket money a few times, of course, but it had been so long ago in Moscow that the few rubles he had managed to pocket had been worth almost nothing, barely enough for a candy bar. And then, there hardly would have been consequences, considering most of the boys his age were doing it and there were much bigger problems going on. Like policing people wearing denim, those sorts of important things.

No this was much better. And from what he had felt after Les Puces and after that London jail, this would be much more enjoyable to watch his wife do the actual stealing. He jerked his chin towards one particular pair of women to indicate the money haphazardly and halfheartedly stuck into a pocket. But Florence was way ahead of him, already moving towards them. Arkasha hung back, his fingers gripping the handle of his wand just in case she required any backup.

But she was amazing, as usual. “Alright,” he conceded, not wanting it to go straight to her head. He figured he still had something up his sleeve to show his wife. He took a step towards the crowd, tapping an older man, clearly wearing a money belt, on the shoulder. He stepped quite close to him as the man turned around, the bulk of the money belt at the perfect level for Arkasha’s hand. He spoke quickly in rapid and repeated Russian, asking for directions to the nearest laundromat, banking on the man not being able to understand him. He just wanted the distraction, speaking more as his hand slipped out a small fold of bills and, like Florence had just done, palmed the money.

“Sorry,” he said, this time in English, shrugging and leaving the man confused and talking to his group in his own rapid speech. He rejoined his wife once more, his grin wide. “We can call it a tie,” he offered, though he was fairly certain that he had been able to snatch more than she did. He dipped his chin, tilting hers up to him with his free hand, and kissed her lightly before refocusing his attentions on the reason they were in this city in the first place. “Food.”

He tugged Florence forward by the hand, easily making his way through the crowd and towards the stall selling meat that was giving off one of the best aromas he had sniffed in a while. He stepped right up to the vendor, setting out the cash on the small counter and pointing to various things that were hung up around the window.

After just a couple of confusing minutes they stepped away, hands full of wax paper wrapped kebab looking things in various shapes and sizes. He was able to think once more after taking a few very large bites and he looked around again, finally taking in their surroundings with a bit of a clear head. “So,” he began, in between bites. “Do you know where we are?” He added quickly, remembering how upset she had looked when he seemed to be angry a few minutes ago. “Not mad, just curious.”

He was amazing.

"Amazing" wasn't really the word she'd use to describe him, though. It was something more. Astounding, magnificent, glorious, awe-inspiring, nothing seemed to fit. Florence hung back as she watched Arkadiy advance, carefully slipping the crumpled notes into the front pocket of her jeans as she tilted her head.

The old tactics were the best as her husband went for the distraction and she found herself trying to hide her smile as the familiar tones of Russian could be heard over the market place. She knew he was speaking quietly but she was so in tune to his voice, she'd be able to pick it out over a nuclear explosion. Had she not been paying close attention to his action, she would have missed his deft hands. Florence knew how good he was with them, she'd had first hand experience of their effects.

Florence looked like a star truck teenager that had just met a rockstar. Her eyes were wide and glittering, suddenly speechless and rooted to the spot as Arkasha came towards her, parting the crowd like the Red Sea as she stared at him. Eventually, she offered him a slow grin at his offer of a tie. "Fine," she said in mock exasperation as she rolled her eyes playfully before leaning up onto her tiptoes to kiss him back. "I love you, you maniac."

Food? Ooh yeah. She didn't need any further encouragement as he took her hand and she followed him willingly, feeling delightfully naughty and as giggly as a school girl. Arkadiy made her feel like that. He reminded her not to take things too seriously. He grounded her and softened her edges and they always had fun. She couldn't help but snort with laughter as she jogged beside him to keep up with his longer strides. If they ever chose to have children, these would be the types of stories that needed breaking out over Christmas dinner each year.

Florence sniffed at the food curiously, trying to discern what sorts of things were involved but she gave up and pulled a small chunk of meat off the stick and chewed. Pork, she decided. It didn't taste like any other Chinese food she'd ever eaten. This tasted fresh and fragrant and sweet and sticky and she felt cheated by the food she'd had before.

With delicate fingers, she picked up a small little steamed bun that was light and soft and took a bite and chewed. "Unf," she said, rolling her eyes in pleasure as she stuffed the rest of the little dough ball into her mouth, her cheeks protruding like a hamster's as she gave a shrug. "Not sure," she eventually replied to him, licking a spot of sauce off her thumb and heaving a sigh. "I wanted to go to my favourite Chinese restaurant called the Forbidden City and somehow, we ended up here." She frowned, her stomach churning with worry and suddenly not wanting any more food.

"If that was the case, then we're in Beijing," she explained to Arkasha. "I recognise that," she said, pointing to the palace in the background. Their apartment was small but the bookshelves were crammed with Arkadiy's poetry anthologies and Florence's mass of travel guides. In their short time together, they'd trotted the globe already. She had hundreds of books about the world, wanting to visit everywhere. Unfortunately, Florence had champagne tastes on lemonade money. Swiftly, her eyes were distracted by a group of men wearing saffron clothing. Monks. She blinked. "Yup. Definitely Beijing."

Falling silent, she absently chewed on another chunk of presumed pork. "But I have absolutely no idea how we got here or whatever the Hell I did," frowning, she scratched her head and sighed. "Maybe I'm not cut out for prison," she told Arkadiy conversationally as she began to walk away from him a little and towards the large palace and square. She figured they didn't have enough money to cover the admission charges but she could look, she just couldn't touch. It was a wonder that neither of them were hurt in her crap attempt at an apparation. She felt horribly guilty, despite her husband's upbeat attitude at his wife landing them five thousand miles east of their apartment.

Due to the unholy hour, the square itself was deserted as they dodged the traffic to cross the busy street. Florence paused and let out a wistful sigh, her shoulders slumping and her pretty face looking dreamy. "Isn't it gorgeous, though?" She asked him as her eyes trailed over the stones and the bricks. It was so unabashedly Chinese and iconic and she felt so very small and insignificance. She felt a similar feelings when she came face to face with the Mona Lisa; utterly gob smacked. "But yeah," she said briskly and with a smile. "Completely lost. Do you want to head home?" Florence asked, secretly hoping Arkasha would say no and they could accidentally find some sort of secret Zen garden.

The food, while being decidedly foreign, was decidedly delicious. Despite the large amount of food that whatever amount of money had bought them, they had worked their way through almost all of it. He had to smirk that she had managed to apparate them across not one, but two, continents, and get them here in one piece. He'd have to check the back of his head and ensure that his haircut hadn't been blemished by a stray splinching, but that wasn't something he could worry about now.

Beijing? Well, okay then. "Right, of course," he said, hoping to mask his ignorance about the finer details of the city of Beijing. He knew about the restaurant version of the Forbidden City, of course, but he hadn't had any idea that it was based on an actual place. He had received a very basic, very traditional pureblooded education before Durmstrang and none of the information he had gleaned from his younger days had even touched on the geography of China's major cities. He thought he was doing well enough just knowing they were in China in the first place.

"You are not cut out for prison," he reiterated, turning his head to place a kiss on his wife's cheek. "But not because of this." There were lots of other reasons, like how she was just too adorable, stripes really weren't her thing, and he didn't know how many prisons allowed conjugal visits. Those were the real and actually important reasons she didn't belong in prison. But, given the opportunity, he'd break her out of a cell over and over again. The rewards for that definitely seemed worth it.

He followed Florence down the street, almost forgetting to take in the rest of their surroundings, to try and fully enjoy their accidental apparation, for he was far too focused on his wife. They came to a pause in a square and he finally looked up, somewhat surprised to be looking up at such an imposing building. He had no idea how they could achieve those sorts of lines without magic, but he shrugged it off and refocused his gaze on Florence. "Gorgeous," he agreed, though he wasn't talking about the Forbidden City anymore.

Arkasha shook his head at her next question. "Never." He found Florence's hands and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a squeeze. "I'd like to see the city with you." Maybe keep up their now tradition of breaking laws and making out behind barriers of rubbish. He kissed her swiftly but soundly and set off across the square to the entrance at the gates. He slowed only a tad so he could lean down and whisper his question: "Should I get more money or just confundus the ticket taker?" But his hand was already in his inside jacket pocket, his fingertips grazing the handle of the wand.

It was easy without a line, without witnesses, without any qualms about bending this little rule after everything else they had done this evening -- or morning, now, he assumed. It took Arkasha only a minute to determine that his shared language with the ticket taker was English, so he told him simply that he had just handed their tickets over, his wand only able to be seen by anyone on his side of the ticket window.

The ticket taker, looking appropriately confused, waved them in, and the pair of tourists emerged into a much larger, much more decorative courtyard than the square they had just come from. "Not a bad choice, mon cœur."

Florence laughed.

She wasn't offended because Arkasha was right; she really wasn't cut out for prison. She had the soul of a poet and the fire of a bullet and she knew, they both knew, she'd accidentally start a riot if left to her own devices. "Thanks for coming to get me," she told him, genuinely touched by his willingness to go to the ends of the Earth for her. She did not deserve him. As Arkadiy kissed her cheek, she turned swiftly, just in time to give him an affectionate nose-bump.

Swiftly, she flushed pink at his compliment. "Oh stop," she whispered, giving him an affectionate little nudge with her shoulder. What had she done so right in a past life to deserve him? "I keep getting you into trouble," she said with a gentle sigh. Whilst it was a bona fide thrill ride, she couldn't help that she was just propelling him through her whirlwind life. What if he wanted a quiet life? Well, she supposed he wouldn't have married her if that was the case.

"You would?" Florence asked with a youthful grin as Arkasha pulled her close and she didn't resist. Her arms looped around his waist as she gazed up at him. He wanted to see the city with her, despite it being after midnight in Europe and he'd orchestrated a breakout. Leaning on her tiptoes, she eagerly kissed him back, vaguely upset that they hadn't been able to fully make out yet. "Love you," she said casually.

Obediently, she trotted behind him before mulling over his question. "Which has lesser consequences?" She asked her husband before snorting with laughter. "It's probably too late for that," she joked. It was all water under the bridge now regardless. How many laws had they broken already? Four, five? Florence didn't like odd numbers so they were going to have to break one more to be satisfactory.

She stayed silent, smiling politely at the ticket collector and all too happy to play along with Arkasha. She couldn't help but laugh again as his quick wit and she stepped up close and behind him and placed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "You're amazing," she whispered. Stepping out from behind Arkasha, the early morning sun blindsided her. Instinctively, she gripped her husband's hand a little tighter, too tight perhaps. "Zut alors," she whispered, her eyes as wide as saucers, her face taking on a childlike wonder of Christmas morning as she fell suspiciously silent.

It was completely quiet and empty; no tourists, no snapping of camera shutters, just a few birds on the roof. Suddenly, she felt so small and insignificant and for once, she'd been stunned into silence. She was rooted to the spot, awe-struck and her breathing was coming a little fast. It didn't occur to her that Arkadiy might be concerned. She was usually constantly chattering, speaking at a hundred miles an hour but now, nothing. It was the same sort of feeling when she saw him in his wedding suit, waiting for her at the beach. Swooping joy, surprise, elation, shock. Though, at their wedding, she didn't so much as walk than run at him.

"Come on," she told him with a grin as she walked forward. It felt like the entire place was empty, like it had been opened solely for them. She one hundred percent knew she wasn't allowed to touch anything but that didn't stop her from reaching out and stroking one of the stone lions. The walls were towering, a faded red, the gilt edged sparkling in the sunshine. She began to climb a set of white, zigzag steps that lead them up to the ramparts, higher so they could see the city start to wake up.

Florence inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. The sounds of traffic, car horns, the chatter of people and smells of food seemed so far away, despite them all being very close. She rested her back against Arkadiy's chest. She needed to feel his warmth. Those few solitary hours in the cell had made it perfectly clear to her that she didn't want to be a second without him. She needed him, he was so much part of her life and her person now. "Do you think they have a gift shop?" She asked lightly. "I've still got some of these things," she told Arkasha as she extracted a couple of notes with a puzzled expression. It seemed she'd stolen more than she'd thought. Whoops.

“There was no option but rescue,” he answered simply. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that he ought to leave Florence in jail. Since their first night together, he hadn’t spent one without her and he wasn’t about to let such a silly thing as jail time get in the way of their streak. Of course, there were other options, like going the legal route and bailing her out, but he didn’t have time to do things in the proper fashion. Plus, she seemed fairly attracted to his new jailbreaking persona so all in all, it really was the only logical option.

The sea of people around them faded into oblivion as Florence’s arms wrapped around his waist. She was the only thing he could see, the only thing he wanted to see. Time always seemed to go faster and slower simultaneously when he was with her. She just had this way of making him forget about everything else, like being lost in a city he had only read about, being surrounded by muggles who he didn’t share a language (or likely any interests) with, or possibly being a wanted fugitive in Britain now. Their kiss was short and sweet but it was no less enjoyable than the thousands others they had shared. He winked as she declared her love for him once more, tugging on her hand to lead her through the crowd.

The courtyard was beautiful but Arkasha’s wife was the only thing he could focus on. He smiled again, both because the word ‘wife’ passed through his mind and because she looked so damn pleased to be there. It was an incredible difference between her usual, talkative manner, now much more quiet and still, much like he was when he finally found his groove for writing things, especially things about her. He returned the pressure from her hand, finally peeling his gaze off of her to look around them. It was alright, though Arkasha certainly felt a very strong patriotic pull towards favoring Red Square to this one.

But he wasn’t about to let his preference for Russia interfere with Florence’s happiness; he followed her willingly up the stairs, only starting to get short of breath just before they reached the top. It was a very large city that spread out before them, much larger than it had felt before when they were part of the crowd. He happily pulled Florence to his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly, planting a light kiss on the top of her head before resting his chin there.

It was a peaceful couple minutes standing there like that after all the walking and sightseeing and lawbreaking they had done in the past twenty-four hours. He loved being alone, yes, but the best part about being married was the fact that now he didn’t have to be alone. A breeze blew through and kicked up a whiff of his wife’s blonde hair and he instinctively tightened his grip around her, his mind starting to wonder towards finding a slightly more secluded spot.

But Florence’s mind was somewhere else and he chuckled when she showed him what was left of her borrowed money from before. “It would be rude to charge admission and not have a gift shop, I think.” He lifted his chin just enough so he could nod at his assessment, not minding that Florence’s back was still pressed against him and there was no way she could see him. He took one last look at the view, traffic slowly getting heavier as the city finished waking up, before looking down at his wife and turning her around to face him. “Let us find it, yes?” He nodded again quickly as he found her hand with his own and started back down the stairs.

But instead of turning left, the direction the sign with the simple picture of a gift box was telling them to go, he took them to the right, finding a very convenient empty spot behind one of the marble lions Florence was admiring earlier. “Or,” he leaned back against the cool stone wall and pulled her towards him, shifting his hands to her hips and closing the gap between them. “You can just keep the money as your souvenir.” He dipped his chin to kiss her, lingering far longer this time than he had earlier. “We were interrupted before.”

Florence had no idea what she'd done in a past life to deserve Arkadiy. Honestly. She could only discern that when she became reincarnated, she'd come back as a dung beetle or something to make up for her unlimited good luck. Tiredness was creeping in around the edges of her consciousness as the events of last night were making themselves a little more clearer. There was no way in Hell she'd be able to go back to London now unless she was disguised. Which was fine. She didn't like the town anyway.

Arkasha turned her around and she was pleasantly surprised to find their bodies so close as she offered him a goofy grin. "Okay!" She gushed. She wanted a little something and she assumed they had the standard gifty things; ceramic plates, chopsticks, tiny models of the City, the things she tended to enjoy buying.

Despite it being early in China, it was already warm now that the sun was up. Quickly, she totted after her husband as they climbed down the stairs. Florence enjoyed her last look at Imperial China. It was different up close than the many pictures she'd seen. It was brighter but the faded glamour had caught her artistic eye. The roof needed paintings and a few bricks needed fixing but then again, it had been standing for a number of centuries so she wasn't mad at it.

"Wait, what --"

The tall blonde gave a squeak as the poet pulled her in the opposite direction. She slipped a little as Arkasha moved her, the momentum nearly sending her wobbling.

Florence grinned, slow and wide. The lion was shading his face but she knew exactly what his face looked like. She loved his long nose and ever so slightly lopsided smile. The skin on her hips tingled at his touch, feeling both like a burning fire and an electric shock at the same time. The artist stepped forward and placed both of her hands, palms down, against the marble and either side of his head, effectively caging him in.

She was dimly aware of just how many laws they'd broken but Arkasha was enigmatic. Charming and alluring and she was vaguely conscious that they'd made out on two continents, so they had another five to go. "I guess I could frame it," she said softly as she kissed him back, pressing him against the wall ever so possessively. "Mmhm," she agreed to his comment about being interrupted. They had. She felt no guilt for either of them stunning the police officers.

"Do you know where we won't be interrupted?" She whispered to her husband softly as she kissed the corner of his lower lip. Without warning, she grabbed him and apparated and a few seconds later, they landed back in a cold and rainy Paris.

Giggling like a teenager, she took his hand and dragged him along behind her. They had a favourite alleyway, not far from their apartment building which was both close and suitably dingy for night time activities. The rain was falling thick and fast, such a shock from the warm and fragrant Asian city they'd just left. They tripped into the building and she wasn't shocked to see the elevator was again out of service.

Florence ran up the steps, her hair plastered wetly to her forehead as she stopped occasionally for a clumsy kiss. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and the fact they they'd jogged up four floors with another one to conquer. Gracelessly, she fumbled for the key as she slotted it into the door and it opened, letting her fall through it. Off came her shirt, followed quickly by Arkasha's as they fell into a damp heap on the floor, forgotten by the door. No lights had been turned on as the watery city lights were able to direct her around their furniture. With a cheeky grin and a forceful shove to send him back to the sofa, she decided she was cold and they were both still fully dressed and she made short work of sorting out both of those problems.