rainbow veins. [tag; cian]

Cold, cold, shitting cold.

Oh, was that more snow? Fan-bloody-tastic. Turning up the collar to her jacket, a tall redhead scowled at the heavy grey clouds above her. Girls like Poppy weren't made for the plunging London temperatures. Girls like Poppy were meant for glorious Mediterranean climates. Warm breezes, wine, bread with olive oil and hot, lazy afternoons. Today was a far cry from that, indeed.

Poppy recently had a haircut. Her glossy copper tresses were gone, now replaced with a stylish choppy "lob" as the hair dresser had put it. A long bob, in layman's terms. Shiny and soft to the touch, she'd lost six inches and her hair now hung around her defined collarbones. It was liberating and it was a long time coming. She wasn't a fancy girl but it was taking too much time getting ready in the morning. She was spending a fortune on shampoo and Eamon was complaining that there was always hair in the shower trap but that wasn't her fault. It just sometimes fell out. She hadn't told him about her drastic new look and honestly, she loved it so who cared if her boyfriend didn't? Pfft.

Striding down the frozen street, she hugged herself close, sunglasses covering her bright green eyes. The reasons were plural. One, it was stylish. Two, the sun was bright and low and three, she was hungover. It was her friend's birthday last night and she didn't get home until three that morning. There had been drinking and laughing, singing and shenanigans. She also had a bruise on her thigh were she'd fallen off a table and no one had caught her. How rude!

Pulling her burgundy hat lower down on her head to try and block out the afternoon sunlight, she blew at a Titian coloured lock of hair that had escaped from behind her ear. February had arrived and the pavements were frozen and slippy underfoot as she continued to walk, desperate to either get home or get coffee. Maybe a Danish pastry. Or a fat bacon sandwich. Yeah. Greasy.

Blowing on her pale hands for warmth, she vehemently ignored the garish Valentine's Day displays in shops. Absolutely everything was ruby red and candy pink and everything was covered in hearts and she just didn't get it. Who bought into that crap anyway? Girls. Lonely, desperate women who had been trained to believe that if they didn't have a date on the fourteenth of February, there were a failure. Well, balls to that. Eamon wouldn't get anything fancy. He'd be getting a home cooked steak, a cold beer and her dressing up in some sort of naughty outfit. She'd leave the choice up to him.

"Urgh," she grumbled as she passed a cake shop that was filled with cute and dinky little bite sized cupcakes. Poppy hated and she really hated this so called holiday. It was worse because she was a florist. For the entirety of that week, she had dopey men dashing in to place orders for two dozen red roses. She was waging a constant battle with herself to tell them that roses were thoughtless and tacky and it might be nice to try something a little more exotic. Like an orchid. Pretty, flawless, timeless. Frankly, she'd had quite enough of the entire thing and because she was still hungover, everything was too loud and she was still horribly grumpy.

"Ack!" Poppy hisses as her heels slipped on a patch of ice, wobbling as her legs spread like a newly born deer. "Grr, sssk," she grunted, unintelligible as she twisted her left ankle, her pale skin now flaming red. Now she was just angry. All the lovey couples and this bloody silly sub zero temperature was driving her berserk. Setting her jaw, she narrowed her emerald green eyes as she angrily stomped down the street, sending confused passerbys scattering in her wake. She needed coffee and she needed it right now.

About to head into a coffee shop, Poppy was dismayed to find the place heaving. Every single seat inside was occupied and the line was out of the door. How was this even happening? Throwing her arms up in frustration, she stomped across the road and into a nearby park. It was pretty, full of grass and trees with a little duck pond. So blindsided with inexplicable rage, she failed to notice someone snapping photos as she dramatically threw herself onto a wrought iron bench, throwing an arm across her eyes and wailing, "I hate my liiiiiiife!" to no one in particular.

Perhaps he had been working outside of London for too long but things were considerably more.... pink than the last time he had been home. Sure, it had only been a few weeks of buzzing through the fashion meccas, but he couldn't help but notice the romantic displays littering every shop display as far as the eye could see. "Peculiar..." The raven hair photographer mused, blissfully unaware that they were in preparation for Valentines Day, which was a mere day away.

The exact morning that Poppy Edwards was struggling to survive, Cian Lennox found himself skipping through like a kid on Christmas. Forget the fact that he had less than two hours of sleep from his previous night of traveling, the photographer was on cloud nine. Something about being back to London, his comfort zone, put a pep in his step.

Armed with prized camera in hand, the lanky wizard made his way to one of his favorite people watching locations. For Cian, people watching equated taking top secret, professionally sneaky, photos of them. This, of course, violated some sort of privacy law, but in true Lennox form, he really had no idea that he might be in the wrong. Some of the best portraits he had taken were in this very spot after all.

Snap snap snap. The sound of the camera clicks, melodic and hypnotizing, lulled Cian into a haze of joy, a stupid grin plastered across his face like paint. It wasn't until the familiar glimpse of copper hair under a hat caught his attention that the man was brought back to life. Cian's trained eye focused through the lens, his hands excitedly fumbling to zoom in on what he believed to be Poppy Edwards. In the flurry of activity, he lost control of his apparatus and it went flying out of his hands.

"Bloody.. hell...!" Cian passed the camera from palm to palm like a hot potato, his face worked into grimace of concentration. After a few moments of sheer panic of which his old friend was certain to have seen, the photographer was left cradling his camera like a precious baby, a pathetic smile on his face as a makeshift greeting. "Hi...." He added for good measure.

The moment her back hit the bench, she knew it was mistake. It was freezing. There was either frost or ice on the wood and it was sticking to her jacket and seeping in through the bum of her jeans but she wanted to be dramatic and as such, she stayed put. With one long leg on the bench and the other hanging over the side like a rag doll, she did look a little bit peculiar indeed. Still about seventy five percent gin, the chirping birds were making her just plain mad.

"Oh do sod off," she grunted at a nearby blackbird that hung off a bare branch over her head,  happily singing in what Poppy assumed to be a mocking and tormenting manner. The fresh air wasn't really helping her that much. It was cold and she was now cold. The birds were annoying. Someone near her was laughing. Was that a baby crying? With a sad whimper, she clenched her eyes shut as she tried to drown out the sounds of Muggle London. Trundling busses, screaming children, car horns, Why oh why had she decided to venture outside today? She should have just stayed at home in a cocoon of blankets and wallow in her misery until this hangover pissed off.

Her head felt like it was in a vice. Her sunglasses were doing very little to block out the exceedingly bright sun that was hovering high the sky. Hearing a scuffle, she turned her head quickly and instantly wished that she hadn't. The crashing pain that hit her felt like a bludger and her stomach turned, causing her to groan in protest. Squinting, the only thing she saw was a tall man holding a…camera? Wait.

A strange man was taking her picture and that was so not cool.

Though! The way he was fumbling with it was oddly familiar and endearing. Sure he might be a pervert but perhaps a cute one. "Can I help you?" She asked. Her usually honeyed voice came out as a croak, rough and gravely. Muggles had police, didn't they? They must be somewhere nearby. Placing one hand on the bench, she hoisted herself up and into a seating position with considerable effort as her head swam again. Poppy lifted a pale hand to brush a Titian coloured lock of newly shorn hair behind her ear as she blinked three times in rapid succession. She knew that smile. And she knew that clumsiness.

"Cian?" She called out, her bright green eyes wide in surprise. "What are you doing in the park? Taking photos of me when I'm not looking?" She asked. Her question was perhaps loaded but the lopsided grin  she offered showed that she was kidding. Getting to her feet, she stepped over to him. Leaning up on to her tiptoes, she threw her arms around his neck in an affectionate squeeze and not giving him a chance to rebuff her. Cian was a great hugger. He was kind of lanky but he was warm and kind of soft, nice hugger.

"Nice to see you've still got capable hands," Poppy grinned, arching an eyebrow as she nodded at the camera he was still holding. Dropping back down to her proper height, she slid her hands down his shoulders and forearms warmly before letting him go and taking a half step backwards. "You've brightened my mood considerably," she told him, remembering that perhaps the last time she'd seen him, he'd so kindly rescued a heavily drunken Poppy from a bar. Why was she always drunk when she ran into him? It was like their sort of tradition.

"So," she said, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Can I see?" Poppy asked, pointing to the camera curiously, wanting to see not only the photo of her that he'd taken but what else he'd been snapping away at that morning. "You know," she began with a tilt of her head. "If you wanted to take my picture, you could have asked. I'd make a great model," she joked, winking at him. "Where'd you want me?" She asked Cian, spreading her arms wide as she twirled. "By the tree?" She enquired, leaning in to place a swift kiss against his cheek as she strode over to a tall, broad tree and struck a ridiculous pose in front of it.