May 8th, 2098

The streets of Diagon Alley were bustling, somewhat more so than they might usually be. Wizards from across the globe had converged here for the sake of the magiccon event, and (semi) renowned reporter Kit Kittrell was on the scene. There would surely be some interesting discourse happening, and important people were meeting everywhere. Unfortunately, the American had yet to actually get his hands on a story! Oh sure, there was plenty to report on, and he had done just that — but he wanted something big, something juicy, and he was damned sure that if he kept it up, he’d find the information he was looking for. And so it was that he strolled through the streets, his eyes looking back and forth, his ears focused and attentive to pick up and gossip from passersby that he could.

♀ Ora Moon Summer was not a story; not one of terrible interest in any right. Hers was a strange and unstable life and she had such stories to share, simply not the sort of stories one seeks out for newsprint. The conclave was to her an opportunity to see and absorb worlds she hadnt yet known in her travels: worlds she had been denied in the years of the war and the reconstruction. The travails of earlier in the day were behind her, her lost underwear safely returned to her wagon, Terror safely returned to her terrarium; this left her in the world of the deeply unentertained. Ora saw to ameliorate that with public exhibition: the most tame variety she knew, she balanced on the corner on the tips of the fingers of her right hand, body twisted about in a way that surely should have been impossible for a woman who clearly was not of the feline persuasion. Beside her, a painters hat; already half-full of copper and silver. Even tame performance could be very lucrative. ♀

“Now that… Is impressive.” He rose a curious and skeptical brow, before also lifting his camera and taking a picture. He was hardly illiterate with muggle tech; a very useful trait in his line of work. “Kit Kittrell. Nice to make your acquaintance, miss…?” He reached a hand forward, dropping a handful of coppers into the hat. His eyes roamed over her body, but not necessarily in a lustful way — he was actually trying to ascertain just how in the world she was performing such an amazing feat. Very impressive indeed!

♀ The jangle of new coppers and posing of a complimuestion drew Ora's eyes to a new face: upside down, she smiled cheerfully at this Kit Kittrell. Wasnt that the name of a classical doll? “Oh, you are pretty, arent you?” Elegantly she untwisted herself, let first one foot then the next touch back upon the cobble stones beneath her; righted her orientation with a toss of her sea-blue mane to finish right. “Ora. Ora Moon Summer, of the Whangarei Summers.” Oh that probably meant nothing to him; shit, damage control. Ora carefully untucked her shirt from her jeans now that she was no longer challenged in her uprightness; bonus points because it gave her something to do that wasnt talk about how she came from Middle Earth and also definitely wasnt a hobbit. ♀

Kit coughed in surprise at the compliment, his eyes leaving her impressive physique and readjusting to the cobblestones for a moment, a hint of a smile showing on his visage, “Much obliged, miss.” He nodded his head respectfully, “That’s a nice name, though I can’t say I know it.” He lifted his camera again and took a picture, “Are you a big deal in the gymnastics crowd here in England?” Admittedly, Kit knew very little about gymnastics, perhaps adding all the more to his awe. “Pardon my questions, miss. I’m working up various pieces covering the conclave and the various events surrounding it.”

♀ “Gymnastics — no. England — also no.” That- English? Ora didnt sound English at all; what sort of ears listened to the soothing and dulcet loverliness of the Kiwi voice and thought of England? None, surely: the answer was so obvious that Kitt was trolling her. “I am the founder proprietor star and ringmistress of the Circus Fantastique; and truly I am only here for the sightseeing. A tourist for the conclave, nothing more.” Ora didnt even mean to stay for the quidditch thing the whole world was pissing itself over; sports didnt catch her fancy, least of all sports full of national pride. New Zealand wasnt good enough at anything. ♀

"Really now?" That was a surprise. "So, the tourist has decided to provide a new streak to the local color?" He smiled, chuckling lightly. “A Kiwi ringmistress and circus star giving a free show on the streets of London. That’s quite a nice touch.” He would offer his hand to her, shaking hers firmly but gently if she took the offered hand. “If you are only here for sightseeing, does that mean the circus is not in town with you?…” He grinned, before turning the camera so she could see the pictures he had taken, “Though I get the feeling that the circus goes with you wherever you go, if you understand my meaning.” His eyes flashed with curiosity and interest; this was not the biggest story, surely, but it was something, and he was most definitely intrigued.

♀ Ora snapped her painters hat full of coin into the air with her foot and deftly caught it atop her head; the coin no longer there when it landed. She adjusted it with great care, as truly it would be a tragedy to have awful hat hair: “Kimsezade and Araujo are; but none of the others. Certainly we are not here on business, though, I never can walk away from it entirely.” Mr American Girl was interested in her! Now, hooks to set; Ora rolled her shoulder. “If you would excuse me, Mr Kittrell; I have a date to tend to with a magpie and a bottle of genever. Unless you would care to join me?” ♀

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