Anarchy in the UK ((Cyrus))

[twiggy]

"Where is that damn..."

With her breath steaming in the early December air, Gabrielle mumbled to herself as she rummaged through her book bag. The odd, 16 year old girl was standing in the middle of the road, originally on her way to Hogsmeade, but had a sudden itch for some music. Her book bag was a little more than nuts. She had to be the most unorganized witch in Hogwarts. Her books were hidden by random papers, which had to of been from two years ago. There were stains from spilled ink and holes that her quilles constantly fell out of. Annoyance and frustration engulfed her as she searched for her charmed Muggle ipod. During the last summer, her Muggle friend, Savvy, had given her an old ipod with all of her punk music on it. It was Gabrielle's salvation. It took a long time, frantically searching through books and writing professors on how to charm it so that it would work at Hogwarts. After a month, she had finally figured it out. With success the ipod was charmed to work within the walls of Hogwarts, giving Gabrielle access to all her punk music while she was away at school. The excitement she felt had been off the charts.

However, it was no good to her if she couldn't find the stupid thing. Stomping her foot in frustration and making a small argh! sound, she reached into the deepest crevice of her book bag and grabbed hold of the player. With triumph she pulled it from the craziness of her possessions and, without another moment of hesitation, jammed the head phones into her ears. Suddenly the beauty that was the Sex Pistols blasted through the head phones with a force that would have caused any small child to go deaf.

"I am an Antichrist! I am an Anarchist!" Gabrielle sang along with her favorite band as she continued on her walk toward Hogsmeade, the winter wind nudged at her cloak, causing small shivers to run up her spine. She pulled her cloak closer to her, but her strange outfit was still evident. She was an odd sight for any conservative Brit. With her puffed out blond hair, drastic make up, pierced lip, and very typical punk outfit including her Hogwarts robes barely covering a jean vest with a large "Bad Religion" patch, her Hogwarts skirt (which was a bit shorter than everyone elses...) with a lovely Sex Pistols patch stitched onto the side, knee length checkered socks and bright green converse. She shivered a bit, wishing she had her leather jacket from home. However, the school had refused to let her wear it.

"I wanna be... ANARCHY!" It didn't matter to Gabrielle who heard her voice, which could be described as terrible by even the most tone deaf of people. She loved to sing, even if she didn't have the voice for it. A group of third year Hufflepuffs walked by and Gabrielle made a movement like she was playing guitar and only sang louder. One girl gave her a look while another giggled. Gabrielle couldn't hear what they were saying, but she smiled regardless and continued into Hogsmeade.

If she could get a dollar from every person who ever gave her a strange look, she'd be a rich woman. Hell, she'd be able to buy England. The evidence could be seen around every corner in Hogsmeade as Gabrielle walked by. She had stopped singing, but couldn't help dance a bit as she walked. There were more yuppie snobs in Hogsmeade today, it seemed. Literally every witch and wizard turned to look at Gabrielle with a nasty, confused, or simply disgusted look on their face. It's true, being a punk kid meant looking a bit insulting to the more conservative witch, but Gabrielle didn't appreciate the looks all the same. They were older than her and they didn't quite understand. With a smirk, Gabrielle wished they could meet her Muggle friends. Hell, Savvy has a foot long, bright pink Mohawk! With the thought of her friends, Gabrielle couldn't help but miss them. Savvy, Ben, and Jesse were probably still sleeping. It was 11 o clock in the morning. They never went to sleep before 6 a.m. and never so much as stir in their sleep until after 2 in the afternoon. Gabrielle made a mental note to write to them. It had been a while since she'd heard from them.

Finally, Gabrielle saw the Three Broomsticks and decided to step in for a bit. The cold was biting at her and she needed someplace warm to relax in for a bit. Finding a spot at the bar, she turned down the music on her ipod, although everyone could still hear it rather clearly, even above the roar of voices in the bar. Gabrielle ordered a butterbeer and happily took a large gulp once it was brought to her. The warmth she had been hoping for spread through her and she smiled, handing her only bit of money over to the bar maid. Gabrielle started to take another sip but noticed how intently the old man next to her was staring. His face was contorted into a look of disgust mixed with absolute horror. With a sigh, Gabrielle looked at him, setting down her beer.

"Get a good picture?" She asked, angrily. The old man turned away and she went back to her music and her butterbeer, shaking off the frustration she was feeling toward all of the Wizarding community.

Hogwarts was a place for every misfit ever known to man. A kid like the famous Harry Potter could go from the misunderstood Muggle world to a place where he was practically a God, but no one can accept a kid who likes punk music and dresses a little differently? Gabrielle found joy in breaking the rules and held no guilt for costing her house all sorts of points, but that was only because no one would accept her. Her peers simply could not understand why she acts and dresses the way she does, so they treat her like an alien. Why would she feel bad about taking away the one thing they cared about? The House Cup! Like Gabrielle gave a crap about a stupid cup. She could care less! Maybe she would care if anyone cared about her.

With a sigh, she took another sip of butterbeer and felt a twang hit her heart again at the thought of her friends. She missed her punk friends. They were her family, even if they were Muggles. She missed them terribly. There just simply weren't any kids at Hogwarts who understood her like her family did.

[Cyrus Thorn]

Early though it was, Cy was up and moving. He didn’t have classes that day and, not being one to stay in the Castle and spend the day confined in stone walls, had departed as soon as he had been able for Hogsmeade. As usual there was business that he could take care of. Not a very urgent matter, but he knew it could be beneficial if he met the appointment on time and managed to give a good impression. It was hard for Cyrus Thorn not to give a good impression when he wanted to please. A born actor (though he had absolutely no interest in the art) he knew what people wanted to here, how they wanted to here it, and more importantly what they wanted to know, but didn’t want to hear spoken aloud. His father had been a brilliant entrepreneur as a young man. Cy knew this from the countless stories Joseph’s old colleagues- now his in some aspects of business- told of his father. Stories of his talent, of his wit and natural ability to comfort any doubtful clients with just a word, just a small gesture and movement. And with the women- with the women he could charm anyone into sealing the deal without even reading the small print. Cyrus wished he would have been alive to see his father in his prime in business like that. He was still brilliant with clients and in disguising the truth of course, but he didn’t handle every aspect of his work himself anymore- other people did that for him. And without Joseph noticing, Cyrus had sniffed out those people and made them swear their alliances to him. It was simple really; taking hold of the family’s business and cliental from under his father’s nose. He didn’t feel bad about it and had perfect alibis and excuses ready should Joseph ever realise what he’d been doing these past few months.

And what had he been doing this last month? Meeting ancient, grey-haired men with overgrown nose hairs and unattractive, swirling moustaches. They were boring in everything they did. Their tones, their eyes, their movements, even the way they checked out the waitresses in wherever they had arranged to meet- it was slow, old-fashioned, disgusting. Cyrus was repulsed by them, yet refreshed by the thought that if they sealed the deal and signed the last contract then they would be out of his life forever- at least he wouldn’t have to look at them, and smell their musty dusty scents any longer. This particular man was one of Cyrus’s most tedious of acquaintances, with a particularly long moustache and copious amounts of ear and nose hair, as white as the silk scarf wrapped stylishly around Cyrus’ neck.

“And, so, if we send… this amount…” The man gestured to the papers before him as his lungs threatened to collapse, and he fell into a fit of coughing and wheezing. “… then… you will do- as promised? No more… trouble to my... workers, and, oh- no more… mistakes in my workplace...” His voice took a while coming out and Cyrus was itching just to throw the man from his stool and forget all about the deal. But it would be useful to have this man’s power in his hands, and all he needed was a little more time. He could already sense the defeated tone in the businessman’s voice. He knew, as all old men eventually did, that the younger generation had caught up with him finally and it was time to pass over the crown.

“That is correct.” Cyrus spoke like silk, his elegant accent coming out as though he regarded the heavy-breathing man before him as an equal- a friend, even. “It should not take long to right what is wrong. I give you my word.” He offered his hand and smiled into the man’s eyes. The contrast between the two was amazing- Cyrus young, handsome, success coming at him at the end of every path. And this businessman long past his sell-by-date. The perfect kind of man to deal with really, and it was obvious that Cyrus had him under a spell of tone and eye contact already. A leathery, wrinkled hand came out to shake the Slytherin’s smooth offer and thus close the deal, finally. However it paused halfway and the man cocked his head to the side slightly. He then turned to view a girl that Cyrus had not noticed enter the Three Broomsticks- neither did he care. She looked like a mess, with no respect for herself or her name in the slightest. Something told him she attended his school and he smiled as he reassured himself. “A good for nothing Gryffindor kid, no doubt. Or a confused Hufflepuff on her way to ‘being unique’… definitely not a Ravenclaw.” He didn’t even consider the girl to be in his own house. Returning his attentions to business Cyrus realised that the man was still studying the student. The moment was held in place before the girl broke the silence with an angry retort. Instantly the friendly, welcoming expression in Cy’s eyes converted into an expression of absolute irritation. Everything had been going so well. In the silence that followed then, Cyrus heard what the man obviously had- the harsh, offensive sounds of punk.

How many ways to get what you want,
I use the best I use the rest...

“I’ll send for you later in the week, Bagglesby.” His voice was swift, sharp, an order, interrupting the music and putting himself where it had been in Bagglesby's mind. He knew that no deal should be sealed in a negative atmosphere. Cyrus knew this from experience. He was not superstitious, but businessmen could seem yours until the last second, when they could dart away from you like a fleeing fish from the bait. It took just a moment for the flustered man to nod, his chins wobbling as he did so. Cyrus realised that he had talked to Bagglesby in a derogatory tone- how he spoke to the man in his head. But not how he should have done on the outside. As the client left Cyrus did not miss the slightly doubtful expression, the raised brow, the frowning eyes.

“Do you have to play such crap, girl? Perhaps some slow jazz, and he would have been mine. But... that music?” He scowled as he turned to the dishevelled thing that had disrupted his meeting. He studied what she was drinking and his eyes relaxed as he instantly become amused. Ah. A teenage delinquent, she must think herself. A rebellious teen on the verge of adulthood- this gave her permission to behave like a brat and ignore everyone else around her, of course. But not Cyrus. He raised his chin and looked down at her, his handsomely defined features and smart, elegant clothing contrasting with her mis-matched array of items. Everything about his outfit was black but for his trademark scarf, today of expensive white silk.

[twiggy]

The music was finally starting to help calm her down. Closing her eyes, she could feel herself getting lost in the music. Her foot tapped to the beat and she tasted the remains of butterbeer on her lips. She actually felt relaxed and it surprised her. Suddenly, she was ripped from her rare bliss by someone talking to her. Instantly angry, Gabrielle ripped the earphones from her ear and looked up at the person who spoke. Not only was she pissed that he interupted her, but he was putting down her music. She was confused by what he said, but could figure out that he was the boy sitting next to the old man she yelled at not five minutes before. With a shake of her head, she turned away from him, her heart pounding with anger.

"Last I checked, this was a public place and if you don't like my music then don't listen." She took another sip of her butterbeer and went to place her headphone back in her ear.

The nerve of the boy. She couldn't believe it. What sort of person just walks up to a complete stranger and talks to them that way? He must be some rich Slytherin boy who thinks he owns the world. She hated them. Why did the sorting hat put her in this terrible house? All the students were pompous biggots that only cared about how much money they could steal from their mommy's wallet. She had more distaste for her own house than she did for professors who called her no-good. The whole school was full of them and she couldn't stand it. It made her sick that humans could treat eachother that way. It made her so sick that she just played right along without even skipping a beat. She believed in anarchy, chaos, a system without a system. That's what she strived for, but Hogwarts, with all it's rules and traditions, only seemed to annoy her. Not only that but the kids who went there. Just like the older boy in front of her with his black clothes and white scarf like he was minister of magic, looking down at her as if she owned the world, she wanted to spit in his face or throw a drink on that delicate scarf.

"So buzz off." She said, her American accent coming through as she said the Muggle saying.

((sorry it took so long. I haven't had computer access for a few days.))