I Mustache You A Question

[Lorcan Byrne]

One would have been hard pressed to tell that Lorcan had been rotated onto the emergency ward for his shift at the hospital today. The stress of the job rarely did ruffle him; certainly, no emergencies had much affected him today, because once he'd signed off for his break, Lorcan had left behind all thought of the job or the bloodstain on his robe-sleeve, wandered toward the tearoom to procure himself a snack of some kind, and, presently, found himself a decent place to perch.

As well as a spot of food, he had also discovered an unclaimed copy of Witch Weekly, which was - well, interesting. Lorcan didn't make a habit of reading the magazine only because he hadn't the motivation to hunt down the gossip rag on a regular basis, but... perhaps he should. It was really rather an entertaining read.

Horrendous tales of Mr. Dawlish aside, he had taken a quiz about his true age ("1.) Where do you see yourself in five years? A. In a large estate surrounded by family" - well no, and he was nearly the only Connolly who could say so!) which had informed him that in actual fact, he was older than forty...

And then he had flipped back to digest some apparent new trends. Number two was possibly an idea to come back to, Lorcan considered, but his attention was next struck by the talk of extravagant magical mustaches. He stroked his - admittedly, rather hairless - jaw in consideration, trying to picture himself with a mustache as striking as the one in the photograph.

"Well, what do you say?" He piped up suddenly, to someone who had been hanging about dangerously nearby for a while (and presumably minding their own business). "Can you see me with a mustache?"

  

[Magdalena Backus]

Maggie had been quite hesitant to accompany her brother to London to get some much needed supplies that the family seemed only able to find in London but had eventually relented on the task. He was going to need help with bringing said supplies back, her mother had pointed out quite bluntly. But upon resigning to the fact she would be out of the bakery for the day, she began to form her own ulterior motives for the trip. It would give her a chance to look about and see if perhaps she could notice if there were any shopfronts up for lease. She was still pondering the possibility of opening up a shop of her own with the grand inheritance she'd received from her grandparents.

All thoughts of such things, however, were quickly put on hold when Rye had attempted one of his many practical jokes and it backfired on him. Instead of scaring Maggie, he managed to end up with a variety of multi color pustules all over his face as well as burning his eyebrows clear from his face and half of the hair on his head. Luckily for him, they'd been close to St. Mungo's hospital and Maggie had been able to get him checked in rather quickly.

"Idiot," she mumbled under her breath after being told by the healers it would take some time to remedy the situation and pointed her in the direction of a tea room where she could wait in relative comfort. With a sigh, she made her way toward said tea room and found herself a nice warm cup of chocolate to relax with. She'd been rather oblivious to anyone else in the room, her thoughts straying to how this event was going to get explained to the family.

Lost in her thoughts, her head quickly shot up as a rather familiar voice broke through her reverie. She stared at an all too familiar gentleman and couldn't help the smile, or blush, that spread across her face. "Well I'm not so sure it would be entirely fitting for you, Mr. Byrne," she said pleasantly, trying not to laugh outright though there was humor to her voice, "Though I imagine a real mustache would look far different than that of your finger pressed across the top of your lip."