[S&S] There's a little black hole in my golden cup [Clem]

It was all hands on deck today.

It was the last Hogsmeade weekend before June exams came rolling in, and many students were eager to take their last weekend of freedom before hunkering down to revise. For Jonathan, that meant having to don a work apron and Apparating to Hogsmeade rather than bumming around at home and stuffing himself silly. His cousins generally did well enough on their own, but on busy days, Jonathan definitely needed to put in his share of work.

Spring was in full effect, its warmth and vibrance adding to the already raucous energy within the Emerson cottage. The animals were quite lively this weekend. Even fat ol’ Agatha, who functioned mostly as a living foot cozy, was trudging her fat self around and nuzzling nearby patrons. The forecast of light showers was luckily held at bay, as Jonathan carefully made his away through a maze of fur and paws to set up seats outside the back garden.

As he was doing so, he felt a slight buzz in his pocket, indicating some patron had placed an order. He pulled out a token, watching the etching shimmer and change to flash the order, before shimmering back to its original state. Quickly arranging the seats and lazily throwing cushions on them, Jonathan sped back inside, nimbly navigating though the furry obstacles.

He went to the front counter, pouting as he saw an empty tray that was supposed to be full of cookies. That damn Duke, lazy as a slug! Grumbling, Jonathan retreated into the kitchen, pausing to stare at the trays of treats he’d baked that morning. Duke was supposed to make sure the pastries were regularly restocked at the front counter, but he was probably off flirting with some girl in a corner. Jon took two trays, nesting them deftly in each arm, and scooted back into the main shop.

Of course, his reappearance managed to attract the attention of Jon’s cat, Machiavelli, who thought it was the perfect time to shower his owner with affection. Machiavelli sprinted forward and began climbing up Jon’s robes. Machiavelli’s weight was throwing Jonathan off balance, and he was still precariously holding two trays of cookies.

“King, you dolt, get off!” Jonathan was now stomping about and wiggling like a fool, trying to shake off his cat, but impressively still keeping the trays from dropping their precious cargo. Getting desperate, Jonathan scanned for his cousins, none of whom were to be found. Useless, the lot of them! He turned to the nearest soul by him, grinning as he spoke.

“Hello lovely lady. Mind if I ask for your hand?”

@Clementine Russell

Clementine sat in the corner of one of her favorite shops and stroked the tiny, shivering dog curled up in her lap, popping her gum sadly -- if that was an activity that one could make sad. Exams were coming up, all of her relationships were in shambles(not all of them, but that's what it felt like), and she missed home. Especially walking the dogs each morning and dragging furry things across the floor for the cats to chase -- and her own dog.

She missed the way he'd take up the whole bed to snuggle into her side the way he'd done since he was a puppy, never seeming to be aware that they'd both grown in size and that there wasn't really room for both of them in Clementine's bed anymore. He was getting old. Being around this many animals was usually a delight, but for some reason, today all she could think about was the limited amount of time she had left with her beloved childhood companions.

Not to mention that she felt so alone. Some of that was by her own doing, maybe, but that didn't lessen the blow. She was an extrovert, through-and-through. Everyone needed alone-time, but she needed way less than other people did. She thrived off of human connection and interaction, and here she was, cooped up in a corner. A heavy sigh startled the little dog situated between the curve of her propped-up legs and her stomach, and he hopped off, scuttling away to find a more comfortable place to sleep. Clementine followed suit and got up, smiling fondly at the little pen of hedgehogs as she walked past. She had a soft spot for those guys. Her own hedgehog was asleep in her dorm, carefully concealed by booby traps that would ward off any intruders.

On her trek toward the counter to grab something to eat with the few sickles she had left on this last weekend the students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade, someone threw their voice toward her and she turned around, defensive position softening when she saw who it was. She thought she'd seen him around, maybe, when she'd come here before. He seemed nice enough. As she watched him scramble around, her thick eyebrows rose curiously, giving away her interest in his... debacle. A bit disorganized, maybe. Clem smothered her smirk as she answered his question dully. "Well, when you preface it with a compliment such as that, I'm not sure if you're asking for a helping hand or for my hand in marriage. You'll have to be more specific."

Ehh? The young woman’s response was definitely not what Jonathan was expecting and froze, two arms raised with sheets of cookies and one leg up to balance his fool of a cat. But it seemed he wasn’t the only one thrown for a loop. Machiavelli also seemed caught in bemusement, pausing his affectionate onslaught of his owner and turning his large heterochromatic eyes, one amber and the other icy blue, to look at this interesting new character, his apparent situational awareness indicative of his part-Kneazle nature. Jonathan would have taken advantage of this situation if he also hadn’t been thrown a curve. At least his arms had not given way, and kept the tray of baked goods perfectly level despite just having one leg to ground himself.

Cheeky little witch. Jonathan couldn’t help but smile. Now that she held his attention, Jonathan recalled seeing her at the shop several times since Sugar and Spice had opened. She seemed pleasant enough in all the times she’d been here, although he had to admit that this place never really attracted rough or seedier folk like other Hogsmeade places did. After all, it was a little difficult to keep stoney facades when everyone around was giggling or cooing at the animals.

He shifted his weight, bringing one arm back and the other forward to make a formal bow, impressively keeping his balance and the baking trays held aloft. Machiavelli was still and staring, so that was a large factor. If his cat decided to resume clawing his way back up Jon’s leg and torso, Jon and these cookies were likely done for.

‘As grand a pursuit both would be, I must admit that your assistance would be slightly more appreciated at present,’ he responded, slightly holding one tray toward her and nodding toward the counter.

‘But once you help me save these cookies, we can obviously return to the matter of matrimony. Although granted, you seem to be a bit too mature for me.’