i know we be so complicated [kay]

  As ever, Jessalyn Russell was a witch on a mission. It was a sunny July day, and this time of year meant one very important thing: orchids were in season. Now, Jess had never cared much for herbology or generic gardening, given the amount of soil and other assorted muck involved. All the same, the young woman had eyes, ok? One didn't have to care about the mechanics of this sort of thing to appreciate a pretty flower, and knowing when all the best ones came into season was to Jessalyn as sensible as knowing her astrological compatibility with her favourite singer. The compatibility in question wasn't great, but Jessalyn was sure that if she were ever to encounter Copernicus Cresswell (the absolute dreamboat frontman of the Pernicuous Pixies) in person that she would be able to overcome something as trifling as how truly star-crossed they could be. Anything was attainable with a little of her characteristic zeal.

  It was the pursuit of orchids that had brought her to seek out a florist in London that day. Her events business was booming, and she'd spent that morning on a floo call with one of her latest clients. The client in question was the mother of one entirely spoiled young pureblood celebrating her engagement with a soiree that had an eye-watering budget. Jess had practically salivated at the figure the older woman had provided as a guide, not just at the thought of the commission that she would make but also at just how fabulous this was going to be. Jessalyn Russell with free reign to be as over the top as she pleased - was there anything more glorious than that? She already had a list as long as her arm of decor to acquire, and was making additions to it by the minute. She strode purposefully through the door of the door of the shop, closely followed by a small spiral-bound notebook that she had charmed to float in her wake. A pretty witch in the store uniform looked up with a polite smile at Jess' entrance, and Jess returned it with her standard exuberant grin.

  "Mind if I take a look at your selection? I'm drawing up a list!" She asked breezily, a pale pink quill wriggling free from her bag at the the verbal cue and practically quivering with excitement as it joined her floating notebook, poised for dictation. The witch indicated in the affirmative, and so with a swish of her hair, Jessalyn wandered into the nearest magically extended aisle. She was hoping for moth orchids, unfortunate as their name was. Still, she wasn't going to be closed off to any other finds. They had a promising array of peonies that she could see, but they were on the way out of season, and droopy centrepieces just wouldn't do. Sure, a stasis charm could keep them looking pretty, but the fragrant quality just wasn't there when you had to cheat it with magic...

  Absorbed as she was in her musing, Jessalyn failed to pay adequate attention to a wizard up ahead of her, standing near some particularly vibrant foxgloves with a glowing warning sign. She only brushed the stranger, but Jessalyn let out a breathy laugh, an apology on her lips as she turned to properly face him. It would have been the beginning of the perfect meet cute, if it weren't for the strangled sound of the words dying in her throat as recognition hit her like a hormonal erumpet. It was coming up on a year and a half since Jessalyn Russell had been in quarters this close to this particular vexatious pain in the behind. Finally settling on uncomfortable irritation as the emotion that she was feeling, the witch fixed her Hogwarts nemesis with a glare that she hoped conveyed that if he so much as considered bringing up that encounter, she would personally turn him into plant food.

  "Sterling. Are you lost?"

@Kay Sterling

If there was one thing Kay hated – and there were, indeed, many things that he hated – it was when his crotchety old boss decided to send him all over the place to get simple ingredients. Beyond that, his fiery loathing increased even further when the setting of said ingredients were places he would never be caught dead in at any normal time. He was thoroughly convinced at this point that Ol’ Cropton was intentionally terrorizing him. He probably sat back in his old leather chair with that oddly crooked pipe hanging from his mouth, bald head thrown back as he wheezed with laughter. Kay scowled. He ought to quit. He thought this twice a day, sometimes three times, imagining the scene in his head: he would enter the office, drop whatever silly ingredients Cropton had asked him to get on the floor, and let out the most enthusiastic ‘this job is shit!!!’ known to wizardkind before snatching a pick-me-up potion from the cabinet and apparating away. If he could guarantee Mark’s unending support, it would’ve been a done deal, but his brother had joked (it was not a joke) about leaving him on his ass in the streets of London too many times to take the risk of not meeting rent.

Kay let out the most annoyed groan fathomable by the mind, slapping his palm to his forehead as he took in the exterior to the frilliest shop he’d ever had the displeasure of viewing.  He’d been sent out for a pair of snapdragons and a foxglove, and the old coot had insisted they be retrieved from this shop in particular. That’s how he knew in his bones that his boss lived to torment him. The exterior was a pale lavender colour with vases adorning the windowsills, ivy climbing up the posts, and all sorts of curious moving flowers surrounding the building. Kay looked around his surrounding area with caution, as if nervous that his old mates would suddenly appear brandishing cameras to capture this moment. The coast seemed clear, though he still felt a sense of creeping paranoia. Kay Sterling, buying flowers. Imagine. Another sigh pushed passed his lips and with his eyes downcast and head captured beneath his index finger and thumb, he entered the little shop.

In his haste to be in and out, he regarded the shopkeeper with a gruff grunt of acknowledgement before asking to be directed to the aisle that contained his ingredients. Kay dug into the satchel he’d brought with him – an old brown thing with a small hole in the side and fraying fabric at the strap that he’d inherited from his father. It was completely haphazard inside, crumpled up papers taking up most of the space. He pulled one out, opened it to see a list of groceries he’d never bought, threw it back in, and unfurled a few other pieces until he discovered what he was searching for. When Cropton wasn’t looking, he’d torn a page from a book that had reference photos for each flower. It filled him with a silent glee; that old man loved books probably more than Kay’s own younger brother. Hey, at least he had an excuse – how else was he supposed to know how to identify these flowers. Did he look like a flower enthusiast? He wasn’t Jessalyn Russell.

The thought had been fleeting, but caught him a little off guard. He hadn’t seen her in who knew how long. He wasn’t counting. Kay redirected his focus to a particularly nasty looking flower – it actually did resemble a fox’s paw and he swore it had just tried to swipe at him – when he was sent off-kilter. The familiarity in the voice made him freeze and he brought his gaze up to be met with a fiery pair of brown eyes. This had to be a joke. This whole thing was a setup. A prank. His mates had seen him and chosen to use this opportunity to throw a curve-bludger at him. Kay’s brow furrowed, and then raised.

Kay paused and fixed her with a suspicious stare. “All right bloke, which one of you stole some of Russell’s hair and made polyjuice? I know I’m friends with a bunch of dung for brains, but that's kin’a strange. Even for you all.”

  Not all that long ago, there would have been some routine to the back and forth that Jessalyn had with the wizard before her. Their verbal sparring had been as regular as clockwork, and Clementine had once remarked to Jess that watching her sister and Kay Sterling screech at each other had the same comforting familiarity as Hogwarts' autumnal pumpkin pie. What was supposed to happen right now was that Kay would trot out some little snarky phrase he'd probably written down for the occasion, and Jess would promptly fly off the handle in response. That was just how it worked, ok? There were simple rules that the world had to abide by for Jessalyn to not lose her head, and the predictability of Sterling's little one-line zingers that were artfully crafted to get under her skin was a constant in the universe.

  The sentence that stumbled out of the wizard's mouth in his familiar clipped Scottish accent did not fit this pattern, and Jessalyn's jaw snapped shut as she tried to figure out what on earth he was talking about. Was he drunk? It was a bit freaking early for that to be the case, and he didn't have the glazed eyes she associated with his brainless end of term dance stunt the last time she clapped eyes on him. Seriously, what did that mean? Why in Merlin's name would anybody impersonate Jess using polyjuice? Was that what he and his freaky Slytherin alum squad got up to for entertainment? She reflexively smoothed a hand over her blown-out locks, momentarily horrified at the thought that Kay Sterling was under the impression that somebody could have been in close enough quarters to grab a sample. Ew.

  Hold on... Maybe she was taking his words too literally. Sterling dealt out sarcasm like a flobberworm did mucus, and over the years Jessalyn had given him one too many wins by taking his words upfront. On second analysis, maybe there was supposed to be some convoluted insult wrapped up in his words? Merlin's saggy-- was he saying she came across like a man in the way she held herself? It was so ludicrous that she barked out an angry laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder to wind up for a comeback. Oh, the time had done nothing to make Kay Sterling any less of an utter and complete prat, and Jessalyn felt the same old indignation burning in her chest as she responded to him.

  "What the hell are you implying, Sterling? I took years of dance, and to this day have a posture that would probably bring a tear to the eye of the meanest ballet teacher in Russia!" She exclaimed, spine straightened to prove her point. What a childish insult, to have told her that she was like a man. Was that why he had walked out on her when-- No! Jessalyn reprimanded herself, shutting down that train of thought with ruthless efficiency. The encounter-that-would-not-be-named-or-referenced-or-generally-referred-to-ever-again-so-long-as-they-both-shall-live was not leaving the confines of the box that the witch had shoved it in, and she wouldn't be baited into speaking of it. She'd dwelled enough on those bruised feelings, and if Sterling thought she was going to be any less prepared to give as good as she got just because of that, then he had another thing coming.

  "This is a florist, Sterling. Did you smack your head and stumble in here for first aid? Or are you trying to buy some sort of apology bouquet for whichever poor witch you're attempting to date at the moment?" She glanced at the flowers before him, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "If it's the latter, you might want to go with something that's less toxic than foxglove, you oaf."

Okay, so it really was Russell – that had been settled swiftly. None of his mates would ever be able to do such a well-calculated impression; he briefly wondered if they even knew what the word ‘posture’ meant. Kay blinked in rapid succession, trying to figure out if his earlier thought had wounded up being some sort of wordless summoning spell. He stared, remaining silent, before picking his mouth off the floor and crossing his arms. “Could’a fooled me,” he responded, rubbing a finger above his upper lip. “I think you missed a spot here.” He said like it was well-intended advice despite the obvious malice behind it. Kay shrugged, palms facing upward. “Maybe that’s why I got confused.”

The page fell out of his hand. Kay almost took a step back at her remark, his defences rising. It was begrudgingly easy to slip back into the routine they’d carried out for years, colliding and countering with clever little quips and insults. But he wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate things. In this moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was pushing him because of the way they’d left off. Some part of him wanted to confront her and know her thoughts, but there was absolutely no way in hell he would bring it up. Still, her comment induced some negative feelings. First of all, the thought that anyone could trigger the sort of hysteria within him to get him to enter a flower shop, especially one as god-awful as this one, was comical at best. Secondly, he hated the use of the word ‘poor’; as far as he was concerned, the next witch to be blessed with the opportunity to date him should feel like she’d won the bloody jackpot.

Rolling his eyes, the wizard gestured to the foxgloves beside him, then pulled away when one swiped at his hand. “I’m here on a job,” he explained, “and I don’t need your help.” Kay wouldn’t be surprised if her name was Jessalyn Unsolicited Advice Russell. He eyed her suspiciously, not unlike he’d done upon first registering who had brushed past him. “Why are you here anyway? Been stalking me, have you?” Kay bent over to pick up the paper he’d dropped, then turned his gaze to Jessalyn before crouching down instead. “Don’t want you staring at my ass.”