It was a little strange, rummaging through other people's former belongings. In fact, as she continued to wander around the second hand shop, she couldn't help but constantly think about the lives of the people who had turned their items over to the shop owner. Crux was pretty sure Bodhi was somewhere behind her still. "I bet he's heard some crazy stories over the years," she mentioned to him, though failing to turn around to confirm his presence. Her fingers were trailing the shelf as she walked a sort of makeshift isle among the cauldrons, robes, broomsticks, and all of the other magical items. "Can you imagine what this person had to have been doing?!" She pulled a robe out from a rack, though not taking it from the hanger, to show him the stain at the bottom hem. It was still glowing a neon green color, though it was fairly obvious that the glow had faded since the original spill of whatever had tarnished the fabric.
A bell chimed throughout the shop, though it sounded as though the hammer was striking a broken resonator. The brunette's eyes shot toward the entrance, just in time to make eye contact with a rather plump man joining the rest of the customers. She flashed him a friendly smile, before disappearing down another aisle. In one motion, her hand rose to rub her hairline, fingers combing through the locks before falling back to her side, her eyes just barely catching the time on her watch as it did. It had been almost an hour since they had left the art exhibit, which meant there was another one until Eugeina Bushwick would be paying a visit to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Why anyone would want to have any ice cream in this nasty weather made no sense to Crux; while not terribly different, London felt bitterly cold in comparison to Hossegor. She felt weighed down by the extra layers she had put on that morning in preparation. She really had more than most of the other people she had seen, but they probably had not spent the last seven months on the beach.
She was glad the Bodhi had mentioned the exhibit to her. She was familiar with Bushwick's work, enough to want to travel north to see her latest pieces, and especially to subject herself to the cold for even longer to hopefully meet her. "I hope she actually shows up; if she's not there within half an hour we're on the next portkey back to France. Honestly, how do people live here all of the time? This sweater is starting to itch. Who even likes sweaters?" She had been fiddling with a clearly imbalanced scale when she realized her words were only being heard by her own ears, and that the familiar bundle of blonde locks was nowhere in sight. She perched a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that were missing the right lens on the bridge of her nose, closing her left eye so that she could actually see out of the spectacles that clearly belonged to a nearly blind wizard. Her weight shifted onto the tips of her toes as she rose into the air, peering above the shelves trying to find her roommate who was somewhere among the piles of junk.
