A crouched entity was in front of a worn, weathered oak desk so that his chin rested on the smooth edge. His cold blue eyes intensely focused upon a clear substance within a phial held by a firm grasp of his steady hand. A simple shift of his wrist was made so that the contents of the phial shone in the blinding light of a lamp. Those blue orbs flickered up and down as they sought for impurity and contamination. His head tilted forward, acknowledging the adequacy of the phial approvingly. His brow furrowed hard as if gearing himself to perform the important and delicate task at hand and the hint of worry lines upon his forehead were showing. Sweat that had been gathering gathering upon his forehead seemed to become dense enough to trickle down, causing a tickling sensation. A brief thought was spared to how stifling hot the room was as an arm was raised ever so gently to clear the perspiration of sliding into his eyes. It was far too warm in this little flat this summer night, despite every window being left ajar. He permitted a rapid chain of blinking to take place before shifting his arm toward a beaker with a softly smoking red liquid inside of it. He turned his wrist gingerly as he swallowed his nervousness. His eyes shivered frantically back and forth from the phial to the beaker and then back to the phial.
A sharp inhale was taken in preparation. His tongue wet the dry lips and a top row of teeth applied strong pressure to the bottom lip, turning it a pale hue. As his teeth released their grip, he muttered words of breath, almost as if praying. Gradually, the phial was tilted in such a way as to introduce the contents in portions. When the phial was emptied, it was placed into a container without him even needing to look; he had memorised where the receptacle had been. All of his attention was now locked in on the concoction that now turned a pale blue and emitted a darker shade of smoke. His eyes bore into the beaker as if watching every molecule interact and chemically bind. Suddenly, it began to hiss. Those blue eyes became rather panic-stricken, automatically determining that he had made a mistake.
He had just enough time to propel himself on to his back a fair distance away before an ear-shattering snap of glass exploding was heard. He closed his eyes just before a shower of tiny glass shards rained down upon him. He gasped for air afterward; he must have winded himself from the force of throwing himself back. His hands wiped tenderly at his face to remove any pieces of glass that may have remained. He sat up, looking at the devastation upon his oaken desk. A small groan escaped his lips before it gradually increased in volume and turned into a howl. Two words were audible, “Oh buggery!” he finally bellowed at the end of his howl. Afterward came a string of swear words that came easily as he moved himself into his washroom. Rory turned the faucet on and allowed the gushing water spraying into the wash basin to try to soothe him. He cupped his hands, caught a handful of water and splashed it against his face. He did this several times, feeling even more cooled and calmed after each time before turning the faucet off. He inspected his face in the mirror as water mixed with sweat dripped from his nose and chin. After determining he had not harmed his face, he shouted yet another expletive loudly. He dried his face with the rough hand towel nearby.
He ambled carefully into his den, minding where there might be slivers of glass that his bare feet could trample upon. His right hand cradled his left elbow as the corresponding hand slid down his face from brow to chin and sighed in frustration. “What a bloody mess,” he muttered as he procured his wand from his back trouser pocket. With a simple flick of his wand, the glass was lifted into the air and cascaded into the nearby bin. He just about to tidy the mess of his experiment that was sprawled across his desk when there was a massive hammering against the door. His face changed from being upset to curious. The frown that occupied his face instantly dissipated, his jaw dropped a few inches and his once furrowed brows were lifted. “Now who on earth could that be?” he asked himself making his way to the door; it had yet dawned on him that other people in his flat complex might have been annoyed with the ruckus he had just made.
He cracked the door a little, letting light pour into his flat. He shoved his face close to the opening so only half his face was revealed in the light. All he could see was a tiny brunette female standing outside his door; he never did pay any mind to how furious she might have looked. The door was opened just enough to expose the rest of his face in order to have a better view. Suspicion crossed his face and he sighed before relaying the brunette woman with a rehearsed message. “If you're soliciting, I'm not interested. If this is an emergency, I suggest notifying the proper authorities as they will be far more effective in resolving any issues you may have than I will. If you're with the Ministry, please present your warrant,” he waited for about two seconds and quickly added, “Thank you!” before shutting the door to. He started to walk away before his footsteps froze in place; he thought he knew that girl. The door creaked back open in a very cautious manner this time and his face was once again plunged into bright light. He curiously looked the woman over once more to make sure he was correct. When he determined that he did in fact know her, his demeanour changed. His lips twisted into a more handsome and polite smile and his voice sounded far less annoyed by being inconvenienced this late at night.
“Oh...Miss Morgan. Sorry, I didn't recognise you,” he apologised as he quickly busied himself with rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them up; he had a habit of hiding his tattoos around magic folk, since some of his tattoos could very well lead to confusion. He finally opened the door and a wall of hazy smoke was evident and the particles sparkled in the light that was flooding in now. “Please, do come in. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he inquired with the acquired politeness of being raised a socialite. He stood out of the way so that she could walk inside of his flat.
