Amortentia Dolorosa

Sitting outside the Leaky Cauldron, Alin had a small book resting on his legs, the charcoal in his hand swiftly moving across the paper as a sketch slowly came to surface. However, he could hardly focus on a single person at the moment - the crowd was too large and moving too quickly. Pulling his features into a quick sneer, Alin set both down to give up for the time being, especially since he was not about to actually go into the Leaky Cauldron.

He had tried once, and walked right back out.

It was not as if it had been disturbing to him (he was not quite so 'delicate'), or even foul, but the amount of people in such a confined space had pushed him right back out. Thus, here he was, sitting outside where there was no anxiety, despite the amount of people walking around. Now if only someone would stand still longer than three seconds, Alin could actually get something done.

Looking around, he sighed as he'd once more lost track of his brother. Seeing as he was near the Leaky Cauldron, he decided to stop in to check, just in case Christobal had wandered in as an escape...which he had done previously. About to enter, he noticed the black haired man there.

"Hey...you look like you've been here a while. Did you happen to notice a guy about this tall," raises hand to six foot one, "with black hair and blue eyes? Looks a bit like me too?"

Alin looked up at the stranger and stared at him for a long time, though it was simply to get an idea of what he really looked like to help in the finding of this other man. He finally pulled his eyes away to rub at his chin before nodding slowly.

"I do believe I have. However, he did not stop here. Last I saw, he disappeared into a store just..." He leaned over a little, trying to look around the edge of the building while still sitting there. "Two buildings over. He has only been there a few minutes, but has yet to come out. You might still be able to catch him, prieten."

Denathaniel blinks at such a possitive answer, wondering what kind of luck God was giving him. Rarely would he get a possitive answer as to his brother's whereabouts barely two weeks in a row, though he had missed Christobal the last time when young Mr. Snape had pointed him out in the Leaky Cauldron. A smirk darked his lips.

"Thank you very much. I'll be sure not to miss him this time around," he said before running to the building indicated by the other, taking out his wand in the prossess.

He was seen coming out five minutes later, a wide grin on his face, a second wand joining his own in his right hand while his left had bruising knuckles. He easily came back to his helper in front of the Leaky Cauldron, giving him a small bow.

"Please, tell me what kind of drink I can get you! My worries are to be soothed for at least this night," he announced, motioning for the extra wand that he had confiscated.

Alin simply watched the man go, shrugging his shoulders as he gathered the art supplies and put them back into the sack he was carrying with him. He hummed to himself as he watched the mass of people walk by, something vaguely Celtic in sound.

He did look surprised when the stranger returned, apparently having finished what it was he needed to do. He was tempted to turn down the offer, but had a strange thought that being rude this time around might aggravate the situation more than he wished to deal with. "Firewhiskey might be good about now. Anxietate apeluri pentru ea." He chuckled to himself, barely loud enough to be heard before standing and dusting himself off.

Denathaniel led the other man into the Leaky Cauldron and managed to find them a corner of the bar that wasn't too occupied, calling the bartender for two glasses, a bottle of Firewhiskey and a third glass with ice in. Pouring an inch in both empty glasses, he placed his left hand palm down on the counter and the cold glass over his swelling knuckles, having stored both wands in his robes before entering.

"Rather rude of me not to introduce myself; I'm Denathaniel Nightrain, and I have to say that there were some parts I missed out there that you were saying...maybe I really should apply for those foreign language classes they give at St-Mungos..."

"Anyways, thanks for helping me find my brother. He's been on the run for a few weeks from me, as if he thinks I'll be paying rent on our flat all alone," he gave a dark chuckle as he thought about said brother.

He grabbed the other glass, almost hesitating before finally pulling it to himself. Alin naturally had some issues with giving trust easily, though he had always been as such. He leaned back strangely in the seat, using his own weight to keep him up.

"T'is no problem. I am Alin insert numerous unnecessary names here Drago. And sometimes Romanian is simply harder to understand." He grumbles slightly to himself, "Even for a native."

He waved his unoccupied hand through the air, tilting his head slightly to the side to look at the man, now known to him as Denathaniel. "So, prietenul meu, it sounds a little like you are suffering the problems of my family - renegade family members. Though it sounds easier to have one go after one. Noutati pentru familie!" He smirked to himself, slowly drinking from his glass as he had no sense of simply downing the drink.

Emptying his glass in one shot, as to hopefully ease the pain faster for the moment from his hand, Denathaniel refilled it and brought it to his lips, a small smile on them.

"Renegade, eh? If he's one, then I also fit into that category. He simply likes to enjoy the good life while I try to keep a reign on things...never did comply with our parents' expectations." He leaned back as far as his arm would extend without moving his hand, looking up at the ceiling and frowning.

"You know what? While getting mad at him and taking his wand away, I always find myself more worried than before. Who knows what that brother of mine will do without his main means of mischief...maybe I should really lock him in a cage. Wonder how he'd like that one," he mused out loud, already knowing that Christobal would simply laugh and challenge him to do it.

"But enough with my problems; were those arts tools I saw you outside with? Are you an artist, Mr. Drago?"

Frank stepped out of the floo, coughing and cursing, and dragging two wheeled trunks by their brass handles. "Goldamned international blazing-road," he muttered, wiping the soot off his face onto one cuff of his deerskin jacket.

He waved to one of the little servant-people that were so common in Europe -- what were they called? House-elves, or some silly thing. "Ya-ta-hey," he greeted it, before remembering he wasn't talking to the sons of the Elders... probably... "They call me Frank Mills. I have heard there is a room booked for me, here."

The house-elf nodded. "Yes, yes, we have a room for Mr. Mills. You wants Knobby to take your bags up?"

"If you think you can carry 'em, little fella, I'd be much obliged," Frank chuckled, taking off his flat-crowned, wide brimmed hat, with the silver concho hatband, and smacking the dust off against his leg, before putting it back on. "Do I need to check in, proper, before I hit the bar?"

"No, no. Mr. Mills is all checked in. You can goes to the bar if you wants."

"Thank ya, Knobby." Frank nodded to the house-elf, thinking he'd never quite get used to the peculiar speciesist arrogance of European wizardry.

He ambled over to the bar, and picked a likely place to lean in and place an order. It looked pretty busy, but he thought he could squeeze in, behind that brown-haired man. "Beggin' yer pardon, cousin." He placed one hand on the man's back and leaned in to hail the bartender. "Don't suppose you've got any Dancing Raven, do you?"

The bartender looked quizzical.

"Then I suppose I'll go with whatever most of the locals drink, here."

((That's Denathaniel he's leaning past.))

He tapped the bag hanging from his side, apparently suspended by some rope holding it to his waist. "That I am. It's... why..." Alin slowly trailed off, leaning to look around Denathaniel at the newcomer, a questioning look on his face.

"Nu am atrage mai multe persoane pentru mine decât am crezut iniţial? What's that word... strange, yes? Mh hmm... strange."

He tapped the bag almost impatiently, as if trying to hold back from ripping everything out so he could sketch. Upon realizing what he was doing, he took his hand away from the bag and tried to occupy it otherwise by holding his head up from slamming onto the hard surface. It seemed to work for the time being.

Scooting over a bit towards Alin so as to let the stranger have more space, he looked behind him and gave a small smile before turning back to see that Alin was now leaning forward.

"Mind repeating that in English? Otherwise if it was a question I'll never be able to answer," he teased the other man, knowing that the artist had been speaking to himself out loud.

He turned back to the man behind him and presented his bottle of Firewhiskey. "This is a popular as it gets unless you have a fancier palate around these parts, from what I've seen. I don't mind sharing if you want to try some before paying; I've the bad habit of buying a bottle instead of a few glasses," he said with a chuckle.

"Ahééhee'. That's awful nice of you, cousin." Frank nodded to the young man and then tipped his chin at the bartender, who set an empty glass on the bar.

He tapped the glass toward the young man, but did not ask to have it filled. That would be impolite. When an offer is made, and you accept the offer, it takes as long as it takes.

"You're an American, ain't you? That's an accent from one of them eastern places that I can never keep straight." He held out his hand. "I'm Frank, from Gallup, in New Acoma."

He nodded his head to the man on the other side of the American, but never looked either of them in the face. Uncle Atsidi had taught him that, and even after all the years of white schools and travel in white places, it never quite wore off.

He waved his hand through the air, as if waving off the entire subject. "T'was nothing important, I can assure." He placed his cheek back in the palm of his hand, trying to keep himself from pulling out all his art supplies. There was no need for them at the moment and Alin had to remind himself of that.

Unlike the newcomer, Alin could stare someone in the eye, unblinking, for a near un-Godly amount of time. That was the problem being raised in his family. "So, who's our new prieten?" He blinked a few times and tapped his chin with one finger, mumbling to himself, "Presupun maniere, care a fost oribil..."

He sat up a bit more, trying to look more like he felt (which was strangely alert). "Well then, de noi prieteni, I'm Alin Drago." He muttered something along the lines of 'there, better' under his breath.

Thinking back on his Geography class before he was admitted into Salem's Witch Institute, he tilted his head to the side as he could about situate where New Acoma was in his mind.

"No, actually in the West, from Salem in Oregon, up North," he said as he shook Frank's hand, after having filled his glass half way, thinking the older man might need it seeing as he looked like he'd been traveling a lot that day, if the soot on his clothes was any indication.

He leaned back just in case his two companions would shake hands and took his bruises hand out from under the glass with melting ice, making a face as he realised he would not be getting rid of the visual damage by leaving it as it is. He'd need to either work a bit of magic or take a potion, which he loath to do on himself.

"Nice Healer I'll make," he mumbled to himself as he sighed and downed his glass once more, leaving the bottle up for grabs in front of him so he wouldn't be obligated to serve at every turn the two men besides him.

He frowned when he noticed that Alin was a bit tensed, as if holding back something.

He had indeed held out his hand long enough for the other to shake, though his was returned to his side soon enough. He continued to sip lazily on the drink, leaning heavily against the counter. "Oh, această obsesie ciudat de-al meu..." He sighed and let the bag slip from his waist, kicking it under the counter so he could not see it.

Alin raised an eyebrow at Denathaniel's facial expression before pointing. "Don't frown - it's a very ugly expression on everyone." He was not insulting Denathaniel, he simply hated it when people frowned and found it easier to say harsher things at that moment.

"Good to make yer acquaintance, Mr. Drago." He nodded deeply, then attended to his glass, missing Alin's hand, not through rudeness, but merely inattention.

He turned back to thank the American, again, raising his glass and nodding in salute, before he started asking questions. "But, you come from one of them places with no sun and no --" Frank paused briefly, as if he'd changed his mind about saying something. "-- cows? How do ya stand it, cousin?"

He laughed, when Alin spoke again, about the American's frown. "Mi madre used to say that about frowns. 'Wipe that look off your face, hijo,' she'd tell me, 'No boy of mine should make himself uglier than he has to be.'"

((Sorry! RL ate my time, this past week.))

He almost laughed out loud at the play of hands but decided against it, not wanting to get either man mad at him. "We do have sun, it just happens to be a bit colder. And frankly speaking, I prefer forest scavengers over cows. No offence."

"And let me tell you, a frown isn't the ugliest expression; it can actually tell you a lot of things...and my mother used to tell my brother his face would stick like that if he frowned too much, so he decided on looking like a maniac. The frown was better," he joked, rubbing his hands over his face, wincing slightly at the throb it caused his bruised hand.

He waved his hand through the air, as if brushing off Denathaniel's comment. "I would say you're mad in response, but all the greatest people were. Therefore, it would be a compliment and I am not going for that right now. Now then you om prost, I shall speak to the one who agrees." Alin blinked a few times before wrinkling his nose. "I just said 'om prost.' Where has my ability to insult gone?"

The poor Romanian actually sounded disheartened as he rested his cheek on the counter. This lasted for a grand total of five second before he shuddered and sat back up. "Oh, Dumnezeule, a fost lipicioasă." He rubbed at his cheek for a moment, reaching past Denathaniel to pour himself another drink. "Sincer, dau vina pe amandoi." He sighed and took a sip of the drink. "One of you should say something completely random."

Frank looked faintly amused at the sudden subject change. "So, how 'bout them Cannons," he asked, with a half-smile, referring to one of the more famed English Quidditch teams.

"Yeah, go ahead, ignore me! I almost feel unwanted now," rolled his eyes Denathaniel before he pouted, snickering when Alin rubbed at his cheek. "Do I even want to know what 'om prost' means?"

He turned over to Frank and sighed. "You know, apart from hearing horror stories at St-Mungo's about how they had to have some bones mended or being regrown because of their 'outstanding stunts' and crashes, I don't really know much about sports. Barely have enough time for myself to relax, don't have the time to care much for particular teams."

He filled his glass after Alin did, taking a sip as he looked around behind him for a second to see if there wasn't anymore familiar faces around he hadn't spotted before.

"I regret to inform you, but it simply means 'silly man.' Such an atrocious inability to properly insult." He took another sip of the drink, reaching up to place one hand atop Denathaniel's head and turn him back around. He gave no reason for this action, simply pulling his arm back to his side and leaning on his palm.

"Anyway, I'm much the same way. I barely even saw a broom before I turned twelve, let alone learn anything about the sports involved. 'M much more of a 'book worm', if you will. That, and I'd so much rather just do something artistic. So I am completely lacking in knowledge of sports of any nature." He sighed dramatically.

Frank laughed. "All I know about the Chudley Cannons is that there's an autographed team picture on the wall, over there. I was always more of a rodeo man, myself, but when it comes to subject changes, local sports are usually safe. I don't figure you get much in the way of rodeos, up this way..."

"So, you're an artist, Mr. Drago? That's great. World needs more creativity in it, or the gods start dying off -- at least that's what Yikáísdáhí always tells me. The more man builds himself into order, tradition, and rationality, the less the Elders can reach out and give him ideas -- and they do love to give people ideas, let me tell you." He shook his head. "I'm an inventor, by trade, and old Hosteen Coyote gave me some of my wildest ideas."

Denathaniel rubbed at his head where Alin had grabbed him, but he didn't comment, seeing as it was rather rude of him to have turned his attention so fully from his present companions. Alin probably simply didn't like being ignored. "Almost calling me mad and now a silly man? I am inclined to say that if you wanted to insult, while not the greatest of them out there, it does degrade one's self confidence to fall down the lader so much," he teased.

He peered over to the signed picture of the Quidditch team and rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're looking for rodeos, you'll not find them in the Wizard World in these parts, you'd have to go to the Muggle one. As for inventing, I can be creative when it comes to punishing my brother, but otherwise I'm rather straight laced with my nose stuck in books studying medicine these days."

Though I can be quite creative with a scalpel...he thought to himself before he looked down at his left hand, grimaced and asked for another glass with ice in it.

He raised an eyebrow and mumbled to himself. "Yes, well, I wish it was up to par. There are simply no manners to be had in Transylvania, insults being as normal as eating or sleeping. However, as soon as I leave, I suddenly remember the lessons taught to me by Am. I have simply lost the ability." He heaved a heavy and dramatic sigh, sounding more put out than he really was. So far, those manners he recently gained had kept him out of harm's way.

"Anyway, to answer your questions, Mister Mills, I am an artist and a wonderfully crazy one at that." Alin chuckled, pointing to the bag he had hidden under the counter. "Everything is in there."

Frank chuckled. "Wizard World. I'll never get used to that. The Elders never went in for that crap -- we're mortal, they're not, and that's all the difference they see fit to count. None of that Magical Secrecy crap, no Misuse of Muggle Whatcha-call'ems -- just the good common sense not to do stupid things, and to talk people into thinkin' they misheard you, if they don't like what you've got to say.

"You people and yer fancy-ass restrictions... Do they really make it any better?" It was an honest question, from a man who didn't know the answer. He'd grown up in a place where wizardry was one of two things -- either something that happened, sometimes, or somebody's drunken hallucinations, depending on who you asked. If somebody didn't like it, you could always fake it out as something else.

Denathaniel put his free hand up, as if to stall whatever else Frank was about to say about the subject. "Easy there, Mr. Mills. Let me remind you I'm not from this country and I somewhat know what you mean as we have more intereaction and have more knowledge of the muggle culture in America than what other wizards and witches might have here, not to mention we attend most events with the the muggles and we do not need to reffer to worlds per see.

"And Mr. Drago is not from these parts from what I've understood, so it all depends on what his country's rules are, if not simply their level of acceptance for those unfortunatly not 'gifted'. No need to pass your ire on us. If you really wanted to know why this complete separation of worlds applies so strongly here in England, maybe you should go ask someone at the Ministry," he finished with an eye roll, remembering quite well that he'd not been the only magical child in his class when attending muggle school. They simply had to be more careful, and an ear full always corrected any mishaps that may have happened.

"And Mr. Drago, I'm sure we'd be pleased to see some of your artwork should you be generous enough to share it with us," he said with a teasing smile.

He blinked owlishly, raising an eyebrow. "Da. A se vedea, a se vedea ... this place is simply more confusing than where I'm from and that place is the epitome of confusion, ignorance, and simple stupidity. Well, to me anyway." He made a rather strange face until Denathaniel spoke again. He pulled an (fake) arrogant expression and held his chin high. "Why, I simply do not like either of you enough."

Alin's quiet snort ruined his image as he reached down to pull up the pack, letting it slam heavily onto the counter. No wonder, considering the size. "Pick your choice of sketchbook. There are several, all of varying sizes and focuses. Though... I do prefer sketching random people."

He pouted when Alin teased them before he reached for the pack, not at all afraid of it's size, though he did hiss a bit as he pulled a bit too much with his injured hand, bringing the artist's pocession between Frank and him.

"So, what do we have in here..."

"Don't be a damn fool," Frank muttered. "Keep usin' that hand, and it'll never stop swelling."

He flipped the bag open and pulled out one of the books, opening it and laying it atop the bag, he and Denathaniel could both see it.

"Well, look 'ere." He sounded pleasantly surprised. "He ain't half bad."

He sat there with his cheek resting on his knuckles, chuckling to himself at the comments. "I guess I should say 'thank you' even though the comment was not said to me directly. Sadly, most people rather... dislike my art. Many of the sketches are creepy at best and absolutely disturbing at worst. However, I do have a few simply of people walking around that I liked the looks of. There are some interesting crowds here." He chuckled again, almost lost in his own little world.

Rolling his eyes at Frank's comment about his hand, he took a good look at the drawings.

"You call this 'not half-bad'? Tell me Mr. Drago, would you be willing to get paid for one of these? I think my brother would be ecstatic to wear one of your creations. He's been looking for the absolute to finish his...inked master piece."

He smilled and downed his drink, looking to find the bottle empty and he kept back a frown, not wanting to be 'scolded' again. "You gentlemen want more Firewhiskey? Or should we order something else?"

"That Firewhiskey's fine by me, cousin. Next round's on me, though." Frank waved for the barkeep and reached into his pocket for the coin to pay for another bottle. "It ain't good for a man not to give as good as he gets."

He blinked a few times before looking over Denathaniel's arm, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I call that 'not half-bad.' I swear you and I are looking at two entirely different things. Tu străini... Eu nu te înţeleg." He went back to resting his cheek on his knuckles, blowing some hair from his face. "But I suppose if you really want, some of my art could be used. I, however, only know two ways and they are the two most painful ways to do so."

He shrugged and looked around Denathaniel to Frank, nodding. "If you say so. But more Firewhiskey is alright with me."

He chuckled nervously and scratched at the back of his neck. "You do know I meant by 'not half-bad', I meant it's absolutely brilliant, right?" he asked, hoping not to get the artist's bad side, seeing as he was enjoying talking to him.

"And as for pain, my brother can take it, believe me."

Denathaniel rolled his eyes at Frank. "Sure, you can pay for this one, but you don't need to be so courtious; I have to spend my brother's share of the rent and the only way I can is by buying alcohol."

Frank paid the bartender and poured a fresh round from the new bottle. He reached into his pocket and set what appeared to be an opal ring and a very small coin in front of Denathaniel.

"Or you could spend your money on not losing your brother. I do a fine trade in these for people trying to keep track of their wives and daughters." He turned the ring three times in his fingers and tapped it against the coin. A faint green reflection shimmered through the opal. "Won't stop you from breakin' yer hand on his face, but it'll take you less time to do it."

He blinked a few times at Denathaniel's nervous attitude before laughing, waving his hand. "No, no, I think you have misunderstood me, not the other way around. I think rather... lowly... of my art. It's an automatic reaction, though it makes me strive to get better and better so maybe it is not all bad. And if he really can, maybe I can add more to his... ink collection."

Alin looked around Denathaniel to Frank and made a face. "Huh... interesting. Just let me hit him once. Might be fu~un."

Denathaniel leaned closer, very intrigued by the ring and coin. "Do you have any made for men? And do they magically adjust to whatever they are being put on?" he asked, thinking his brother might never wear the ring, unless he operated on Christobal and placed it himself on his bones or intestines.

"How far do they track to? I sometimes have to look out of the country to find him, you know. Just the other week he was gone to stalk some people I don't know where before I got a summons to go pick his drunken carcass from the holding cells for public disturbance outside of some bar not six days later."

He then turned to Alin and smirked. "Should I let you hit him, he might enjoy it too much; you'll be stuck with a stalker for a few months, if he has his way and believe me, he always finds a way to get it. And he'd be even more after you should he know you agreed to share your talent with him," he sniggered, looking back down at the drawings as he sipped at his glass, wondering which one his brother would appreciate more, if not want to meet Alin himself to talk over designs.

"Other way, cousin. You wear the ring. The coin goes on him or in him." Frank picked up the coin and moved it away from the ring. A small green dot moved around the edge of the opal, always in the direction of the coin. "That spot will change color, based on how far away it is from the coin. Goes from this easy green to a dark red. If it's red, it's safe to say he's not on the island. You can probably figure out where on the mainland, based on where the dot points. If it's dark red and in the middle of the stone, it's time to worry. The coin's either been separated from the target or the system's malfunctioning. A strong anti-magic field can block the signal, but I've seen them work over most of a quarter of the globe. Wouldn't push even that far, most of the time -- the light'll just go black. But, it'll definitely let you know if you're in the right country. Probably give you the continent, with fair accuracy, but you'll want to hit a few points, to be sure."

He set the coin down. "This is just the set I'm carrying, right now. I can make them in a bunch of different shapes, but the receiver always needs an opal in it, somewhere, and the transmitter has to be metal."

He spun the coin and chewed his lip. "What kind of ink's your brother use for his tattoos? If he's using metallic bases, and he decides to get a new one, from Mr. Drago's designs, I could work over the ink..."

He remained silent for awhile, letting the two others discuss the method of tracking Denathaniel's brother. He stared at his sketchbooks, already itching to do another sketch... likely with color this time around. His fingers suddenly flew up to his face, his brows furrowed. "Huh... my fingers would be stained for a long while... 'm so messy."

Alin forgot about the other two until the word 'stalker' came up. "Eh!? Uh... no. Had enough of those. They never did anything but follow me... but still." His nose wrinkled some as he thought on it. "I don't want someone who stalks because of my art or, Heaven forbid, the fact I can hit someone. That just... no."

"Use the ink in his tattoo, eh? Sounds interesting, but would I be able to turn off the tracking device? In case I lose the ring or it gets taken from me. Even though I would enjoy burrying my brother alive, that doesn't mean I'll let anyone get the privilege," he said, not liking the idea of someone else being able to track his brother, even if it meant he would have to abandon the idea himself. "And you said it has to be of metal base? Huh, I might just let him get his body pierced then. He's heard it somewhere and has gotten it into his head."

He rolled his eyes as he thought of all the things his brother would have liked to try in his life had he not stopped him, some being quite dangerous and having been even fatal.

"Oh, it wouldn't just be stalking Mr. Drago; my brother Christobal would do anything to catch your attention should you catch his eye. Let me tell you, my brother despises being ignored, less it be for a good reason," he snickered, remembering how it had been at school.

Frank looked slightly relieved. He hadn't been sure the tattoo ink would work. "I can almost definitely work with an earring. I've done some real pretty ones for a few witches.

"But your concerns about turning it off -- that's a first. I haven't had somebody ask me for that, yet." He nodded, thoughtfully, sipping at his firewhiskey. "It's a good thought, though. I'll have to do a little work with the charms to get it. I s'pose you'd want it to only turn on and off for you. Take me a couple of days, but I'll see what I can do."

He made a face before pulling back his lips in a disgusted smile. "Of course it wouldn't be just stalking. Why would it ever be? That would simply be much to easy. Ugh." He grumbled to himself, reverting to his native tongue as he took one of the sketchbooks not being looked at and began to sketch. What though, he was not yet sure.

"Well, if for some... unfathomable reason, your brother wants that tattoo, is he going to follow me around if I do it? I really can't promise he'd return safely if he did... or that my sanity would stay in tact."

Denathaniel smiled, pleased that he had been able to bring some new ideas to Frank's merchandise, even if it was just to improve it a little. "Thanks for looking into it. And could you do a wrist band with some opals in them for the receptor? I'm not much for rings and knowing my brother, he'd steal it were it to be a necklace."

He snickered at Alin's unease once again as he turned to watch what he was drawing, eager to see what it would turn out to be.

"Actually, you don't have to worry, my brother and I have a few rules about acquaintances. I don't stick my nose in his business unless they seek out my help and he doesn't bother my people unless they go looking for it. If it's from me, he won't harass you about tattoos, though I can't stop him from passing any comments while you are within his vicinity."

"Wristband and an earring." Frank nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Shouldn't be a problem. Just take me a couple days to put it all together."

He craned his neck to see what Mr. Drago was so intently sketching.

He blinked a few times, pausing in his sketching to look up at Denathaniel with a strange look. "You know... just for future reference, what kind of comments are we talking about? I really like to know how I should respond in case these comments come up."

He suddenly leaned over and pointed at Frank with his pencil, almost sulking. "Do not move. Neither of you. Doamne, ma simt atat de dezamagit..." Alin made a face, almost a pout, before going back to his sketches.

Denathaniel smiled as he nodded to Frank. "Take your time, he's not going anywhere anytime soon," he snickered as he took out his brother's wand. "He tends to stick to one place when he doesn't have his wand."

He rolled his eyes at Alin. "Oh, just comments about anything; your clothes, your art, the random people around..." He stopped himself from adding anymore, he didn't think the other man wanted to know about Christobal's lack of decency.

He grabbed a hold of Frank around the shoulders and smiled. Maniacally. "This better?" he joked.

"Do well to watch grabbin' a man like that," Frank joked back. "Might get took the wrong way ... or the even wronger way, if you know what I mean."

He elbowed the American, jovially, but stayed mostly put.

"I s'pose I'll see what you've made of me, soon. Don't worry about flattering me none. I'm more for seeing what you make of me, all by yourself."

He waved his hand through the air, the charcoal adding a strange emphasis on the gesture. "That pause of yours makes me wonder, Denathaniel. Decency is the code of Draculesti..." He stopped and looked up as if he just had some great epiphany. "It finally makes sense... no wonder we never got along. Huh..."

He snorted softly and went back to his artwork, mumbling as he did so. "No worries there. I only bend nature to my will on paper - people get to stay exactly the same. Ce oribil trebuie să fie pentru ei."

Denathaniel rolled his eyes as he gave a pat on Frank's shoulder. "You've been calling me cousin since you got here, and last I checked, cousins act like sibblings. And yes, before you ask, my brother and I are this close," he said cheekily, rubbing his ribbs where Frank elbowed him.

"And believe me, decency is something that is lost on my brother's part...and mine also at times. What is there to be fun when always decent? A little outgoing never hurt much. Just like your drawings Mr. Drago; they are your way of 'acting out', one would say," he said, smiling lopside to him.