What a lovely way to burn [Perdita]

It was around ten o’clock and he had been admiring her for at least an hour. It wasn’t like he was staring constantly or anything creepy, but every time she moved, he noticed out of the corner of his eye. The pretty jazz singer in front was vaguely keeping his attention, but he had seen her here before and had her in the ally behind the club, leaving little to the imagination.  She was clearly singing directly to him, locking eyes whenever he looked at her too long. He hated clingy girls, though he supposed there was a lot to be said about it. He wanted a relationship in theory, one girl to spend a long time with… but she wasn’t the right one. Something about her was wrong, and her passing gaze felt like spiders crawling over his back.

He looked back over at the pretty young thing near the bar. She was different, new. Did that mean better? No, but she seemed like the kind of girl who would make him wait, string him along a little and make him work for it. A few words whispered in her ear wouldn’t be enough. He liked when that worked to a degree, but he preferred it when he was pushed away a bit before she gave in. He wet his lips, and nodded to the bartender. He ordered a bottle of a decent sparkling wine and had a glass sent her way. When it arrived, he watched her look around, surprised, and he raised a matching glass in a ‘cheers’ motion to indicate his guilt. He sipped it carefully, but even so it didn’t take long for him to finish the glass. He refilled it, and took the bottle with him to sit adjacent to her at the bar.

“Evening.” He offered. “I hope you like the vintage. I’ve never tried this particular year before, though the brand is verging on decent.” He smiled lightly. He wasn’t by any means a connoisseur, but he did drink more wine than he used to. He liked it with a nice meal, and sometimes on its own. This place felt like a champagne sort of place. The singer was singing Fever a favorite cabaret song of his, and he ventured a peek. He looked back at the woman in front of him, then, and forgot all about the singer. “I’m John, nice to meet you….” He trailed off, waiting for her name.

@Perdita Bloom

She couldn't believe she'd been stood up. Her! Ditched.

With a scowl, she glanced at the bartender's watch. Any normal person would have cut their losses and gone home but not her. And she'd made an effort. Absently, she toyed with her diamond earrings as the woman crooned down the microphone, her voice sultry and smokey. It created a naughty vibe and she was beyond miffed that he hasn't shown. His name was Adam and she should have known better - it was a fuckboy name. He'd seemed charming at the time. He was tall, dark and handsome with dimples (her weakness) and a filthy sense of humour (another weakness.)

Perdita crossed her long legs at the knee and jiggled her foot, her shoe hanging on by her toes as she heaved a sigh, nails tapping on the bar. She was staying now just out of spite, a trait she'd inherited from her mother. Mrs. Bloom was a petty queen and Perdita was going to carry on her legacy.

A glass loomed in front of her vision and she looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry," she began with a smile as she pushed it away from her. "I didn't order that," she explained politely, only to say someone had sent it over. If it was Adam, she was going to crack his nuts. Blinking, she looked around to see a shadowy figure in the corner catch her eye and raise a glass and she nodded curtly in response before she turned away to hide her smile behind the rim of her glass.

"Hello," she replied as he sat down, her bright blue eyes giving him a once over as he sipped before she shrugged. "Not my favourite," she told him honestly and perhaps a little rudely. His eyes  went to the singer and Perdita rolled her own as she drank. Ugh. Men were so obvious sometimes. Perdita tapped her foot to the beat of the drum and cymbal as she watched the singer, her fingers wrapped around the microphone like it was her lover's face.

His name was John, he'd said. "The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure," she smiled. He paused and her smile grew. "Perdita," she replied as she extended a hand as though to shake his but wrapped her fingers around the bottle instead as she pulled it closer to her and topped up her glass.

"First time?" She asked, meaning the jazz club. She and Mary used to come here a lot in the past. They'd get drunk and treat it like karaoke, much to the annoyance of the other patrons who had paid the cover charge. Her eyes were on the singer whose eyes, in turn, were on John. She arched a finely groomed eyebrow. "Oh dear," she replied in a light tone as she drank. "Looks like I've got competition," she explained with a smile as she rested her elbow on the bar and rested her chin on an upturned palm.

He nodded his head. “It’s not my favorite either.” He admitted. “Why don’t you tell the bartender something you’d like better? On me, of course.” He replied smoothly, not minding the curtness. “Perdita, very nice.” He repeated her name to help him remember it. He reached out his hand to shake, falling for her trick, and smiling a bit as she continued drinking the free champagne.

“Not my first, but less often than I’d like. I live here in Chelsea, and a jazz club is right up my ally, but I barely discovered it a week ago.” He admitted. He eyed her up. “Lounges aren’t quite as fun when it’s just you.” He admitted. “They’re better with someone to share it with, don’t you agree?” He offered. He looked back up, following Perdita’s eyes up to the singer. He grinned a bit. “No competition, I assure you.” He smiled.

“What’s got you here on your own?” He wondered. She was far too young to be like John, lonely and looking for someone to fill a void. She was bound to have men throw themselves at her, friends begging her attention. Married life had lost John most of his friends. It wasn’t that Amelia didn’t allow him friends, on the contrary. It was just hard to keep up with people when you had a family to support. That, and he was always travelling.

“Are you from around here?”

"Gin and tonic, please," Perdita was quick to ask the bartender at the man's insistence with a smile. She wasn't rude - she'd finish the champagne - she just wasn't really in a bubbles kind of mood. He took her hand and she squeezed it firmly with another smile. Her eyes dropped to his wrist very briefly in a practised motion. His watch was expensive. Cartier or Breitling? Under the dim lights, she saw the winged logo and she smiled. It suddenly told her a lot about him.

"Thank you," she added demurely, retracting her hand to fold them absently on the bar. He'd called her name nice. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was Shakespearean, like she always did when people seemed confused or impressed but she managed to reign it in a little.

"Ah,"  Perdita replied knowingly, reaching out to take the freshly made cocktail and sipped it. "You're late to the party," she grinned. John looked her over and she didn't have the decency to blush. "I agree," she added lightly to it being better with company. There was something about the smoky atmosphere and sultry base that made her do terrible things. "Lots of dark corners," she added innocently as she poked at an ice cube with her straw.

Quickly, she laughed, high and genuine as she crossed her legs at the knee and turned towards him to face him better. "Correct answer," she joked, switching over to the champagne as she dutifully ignored her mother's warning as to not mix drinks.

As John asked why she was alone, Perdita wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I've been stood up," she answered truthfully, shame prickling at the edges. Glancing over, she flashed him a white-toothed grin. "Complete bullshit, right?" She laughed humourlessly, stabbing at the slice of lemon in her gin as she speared it with her straw. Not missing a beat, she bit into the slice of the fruit without flinching.

"Technically, no," Perdy answered him quickly, pausing to suck a spot of lemon juice off the pad of her thumb. The brunette was basically a Londoner but she'd been born further north. She was stuck in the middle, unable to identify with either half of the country. "I don't live far," she added with a smile. "You and I are practically neighbours."

Gin and tonic, what a classic cocktail. He wondered what this meant about her. She seemed in a flirtatious mood, and he enjoyed this about her. There were, indeed, plenty of dark corners in this sultry little jazz club. The better to enjoy her presence somewhere quiet. When she stated she had been stood up, his brows rose considerably.

“Stood up? You?” He asked, surprised. “Their loss, I assure you.” He offered quickly. “You look gorgeous tonight. Here’s to hoping I can be a good enough stand in. Keep you company for the evening.” He teased lightly, a grin crossing his lips.

“Oh, so you do live around here? Nice.” He smiled. “Have you been to this place much before?” He wondered. “It’s just around the corner from my flat.” He wanted to invite her back there, but it was too soon to make that move. “Perhaps I’ll walk you home when we’re done here.” He smiled. “Or you could come visit mine, whichever you prefer.” There was a playful lilt to his voice implying he was joking—unless she wanted to.

“Do you sing?” He wondered. “I know Tuesday nights are supposedly open-mic here, you look the type to sing something dark and dangerous.”

"I agree," she said smoothly with a smile and a roll of her eyes, shaking her head so her shiny dark hair caught the light. "He must be out of his tiny mind. Thank you," Perdita smiled as the drink was placed in front of her and she drew it closer to her with an index finger hooked around the glass. He complimented her and she allowed herself to smile with a curt bob of her head in acknowledgement. "That'd be nice."

She nodded, her bright eyes on the singer. "I have," she told John. "I used to come here after work a lot with a friend. I like jazz," she said matter of factly, tapping her fingers on the bar in time with the beat of the song. Perdita liked all sorts of music - classical, rock and roll,  a little bit of reggae, but jazz was something special.

"There's something special about it, don't you think?" She asked him, shifting in her seat, her knees pointing towards him as she tilted her head. "Especially in a low lit, smoky room. Very atmospheric," she added as she sipped her drink, catching herself just in time before she choked on her gin. Just what kind of woman did he think she was?

"I know the way home quite well," Perdita replied with a smile as she poked at the slice of lemon in her drink with her straw. He'd invited her over to his place and she was half tempted to tell him to get his coat so they could leave right now. "I'll consider it," she said vaguely before she gave another genuine laugh.

"Goodness, no," she chortled as John asked if she could sing. "If you call doing it in the shower, then absolutely," she smiled again with another shake of her head. He paid her a rather lovely compliment and if she were more of a lady, she might have blushed. "I'm flattered, though," she added lightly. "Sorry to ruin the fantasy," she grinned.

John flushed lightly at her careful declination of his teasing offer. He knew he was being forward, and felt bad for it. “Of course, you do. I’m sorry if I’m too forward.” He admitted carefully, looking at her laugh with a sparkling eye. She was truly beautiful, and he didn’t mind if he stayed there with her for the rest of the night just chatting, though admittedly he would prefer to be somewhere quieter and less distracting, hence his offer.

“Alas, I can’t particularly carry a tune either, so I understand.” He laughed. “I used to play piano, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten very rusty at that as well. Not much of a musician, more of a ministry man myself. What does a lovely lady like you get up to?” He wondered. “Both on the clock, and in your free time. I’m interested in hearing about you.”

He smiled at her carefully as the song changed, and he paid no mind to the new jazz song for now. Maybe, later on, he’d ask her to dance.

"Not at all," Perdita was quick to assuage him. If she were honest, she couldn't really turn down a night of no strings attached sex. He was handsome. He seemed nice. No one else here was paying her any attention and she had gotten all dressed up, it seemed a shame to waste it. With her elbow on the bar and her chin resting in an upturned palm, she offered him a smile.

Oh, he played piano. Perdita's bright eyed gazed dropped down to his hands to see that he did have long fingers. "I used to play the flute as a child," she admitted with a grin as she pulled a face. "I had braces and a fringe that was too short," she said with a roll of her eyes but she sat up a little straighter as he mentioned the Ministry. She thought she might have accidentally flinched.

It made sense - he was well dressed and he held himself stiffly. They hadn't passed one another when she was working there but then again, it was a large building. "I work in fashion," she embellished the truth a bit. Strictly, it wasn't a lie. She did work for a fashion magazine but it wasn't as glamorous as she'd hoped - she spent a lot of time sporting buttons and removing stains from stupidly expensive garments.

He asked about her free time and she stalled before she smiled again. "I read, I like art galleries, fine dining," Perdita went on. "I've got a soft spot for antiques and red wine. I spend a lot of time abroad, come to think of it. I have a few holiday homes." Internally, she winced, but there wasn't any way she could phrase that which made her seem like less of a princess. Her eyes looked behind him at the piano before she smiled again. "If you play, I'll sing."

John laughed a bit at the image of her with braces and a short fringe, but not loudly or obnoxiously. It was hard to imagine this beautiful woman being anything less than gorgeous. He noticed the light flinch when he mentioned ministry work, but let it go. Perhaps a bad time there? He wondered if she ever worked in the Ministry and if she did, what she might have done. He loved his job, really. He loved the aesthetic of being an ambassador and diplomat.

“Fashion? Interesting. You look well-dressed enough for it, surely. Are you a designer?” He wondered. He thought briefly of Carina, but then washed that thought away with a sip of his drink. “I’m working between here and Sweden a bit lately. Department of International Magical Cooperation.” He explained.

“A woman after my own heart, I see. I like those things as well. Travel, art, music, dining. Perhaps, forgive me if I’m too forward again, we could take this conversation to dinner? I know a nice Italian not far from here, and a fair few French restaurants as well, though nothing can compare to the ones in Paris.” He smiled. “That was where I was stationed as an assistant ambassador. I’ve spent some time in France, some time in Italy, now Sweden.” He admitted.

He did not have a few holiday homes, but thought she might be rather well-off if she did. He mostly stayed in apartments. He owned his flat in Chelsea, which was quite an investment, and still owned the home he had shared with Amelia, but mostly stayed in other people’s flats when abroad. Perhaps a nice home near Monaco might be a nice addition to the properties he owned, if he could afford it. Perhaps when he stopped paying child support to Amelia and instead paid directly to Carina—not that he saw that coming soon. He felt like he owed Amelia some financial security, even if she would refuse to take it once Carina had graduated this coming June.

He looked over at the piano, laughing lightly. “I doubt very much anyone would enjoy hearing ‘chopsticks’ in this kind of establishment.” He teased.

"Professionally? No," she smiled as she twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger. "My family owns a line, Bloom Mill?" Perdita asked, not entirely surprised if he hadn't. It was well known in certain circles but now, they tended to make and supply fabric more than they did clothes. Absently, she swirled her drink around her glass, the ice cubes clinking gently. "Nothing more than sketches and the occasional alterations," she downplayed it. Perdita could handle scissors and had a keen eye but it wasn't something she'd ever think she'd be able to do full time.

"I repurposed this," she told John as she smoothed a hand down her skirt. She'd made it a little shorter, added more darts to fit her curves. Perdita tilted her head in interest. "Lovely," she said but not unkindly. "I've never been to Scaninavia," she explained. "It's too cold for me," she commented, despite her partaking in apres-ski most winters.

Perdita stopped with her glass halfway to her lips, grinning. "I love Italian food," she smiled, relaxing. While she had no qualms following a stranger back to their bedroom, it'd be nice to eat first. Swallowing, she nodded in agreement. "Have you ever been to Le Meurice" She asked, seemingly coming alive. "There are charming cafes all over the place," she added, despite not really being a cafe kinda girl.

"Do you like it?" Perdita asked, curious, meaning Paris, his job, the travelling. As exciting as it was, she imagined it was tiresome.

He mentioned chopsticks and she couldn't help but laugh - loud and genuine. "Oh, go on," she laughed with a slow grin. "Alright," she finally acquiesced. "Where did you want to take me for dinner?"

He lifted a brow. “Bloom Mill, eh?” He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.” He was always on the look for high end fashion, even when he had still been married. He loved dressing his muses in the nicest clothing and taking them nice places. He was very much about appearances and perfection. He loved seeing a pretty girl look her best. He didn’t always need sex. Sometimes the company and aesthetic were all he really missed. He liked taking pretty girls out, looking at them, talking to them. He liked the company.

“You did a great job, I would never have noticed that it wasn’t made that way. It fits you like a glove.” He laughed as she mentioned Scandinavia. “Sweden… takes some getting used to, that’s for sure. It’s very cold, and Durmstrang is very different from Hogwarts or even Beauxbâtons.” He used the French pronunciation.

He loved watching her come alive, and smiled wider at her. “I have, actually. You’re right, it’s very charming there. I’ve been to a fair few cafes in my day, I tend to prefer smaller establishments. Those hole-in-the-wall places often have the best quality food, and they’re considerably less touristy.” He grinned.

“I love travelling, learning new cultures. I try to seek out where the people who live in the area actually go. I want to learn what the locals know, not just the big draws.” He admitted. “Actually, I know the owner of this Italian place down the street from here. She was raised in Roma. Her husband’s the cook, and he’s very generous with portions.” He teased. “You ready to head out, or do you want to finish your wine?”

"You're kidding," Perdita replied, eyebrows raised in surprise that he'd heard of the family company. It wasn't quite the juggernaut it had been in their heyday but they were still ticking along. It needed modernisation. The designs (and finances) needed dragging, forcefully, into the twenty-first century. "We do a lot of collaborations recently. Keep an eye out for the flyers," she smiled.

"That's very sweet, thank you," she said demurely as she smoothed her hands down her skirt. While she was fishing for compliments, it was still nice to get them. John seemed to have a keen eye. Most men didn't really pay attention to the fabric, just how it fit her body. At the mention of the cold, she pulled a face. "I can imagine," she sympathised. His French accent was good and she grinned, her mind wandering.

With her elbow on the bar, she rested her chin in an upturned palm, giving him her full attention. Perdita could lie and say that she loved little bistros and ate where the locals ate but she didn't. She did like certain things, however. "I like how they're private," she went on to say. "Less hectic. No one's pushy or gawking," she went on as she absently played with a beer mat.

"Smart," Perdita smiled at him. "Ooh, Roma," Perdy echoed with a slow grin. At the mention of her drink, she swiftly picked it up and downed it in one, placing it on the bar. "I'm ready," she said eagerly, giving the sexy jazz singer one last lingering look before she shrugged her coat over her shoulders. "Lead the way," she told John, offering him her arm.