Of course Spaz had followed her best mate, bitching all the way across London about how magic simply could not exist. Razzle had stayed silent through all of her rantings, a quiet smirk playing across his round features.
Walking wasn't a burden to the two, for they'd been doing it all their lives. Street folk simply couldn't afford to take the subway, much less buy a car or even a bicycle.
As the pair crossed the Thames it was only customary for Spaz to lean over the protective rail and spit into the murky brown water far below. Razzle, however, apparently didn't have time for that.
"None o' tha' bollocks, now, dear'eart we go' pressin' business, ye know." Asserted Raz, enveloping the preteens slender wrist in one fist and dragging her along, despite her rather loud and persistent complaints.
It was half past four in the afternoon (having left at eleven o'clock in the A.M.) when they finally reached their destination; a rather seedy-looking place dubbed The Leaky Cauldron. This run-down building seemed to stir up memories for Razzle, for something of a dreamy expression flicker across his face as he gazed upward at the filthy sign decreeing the locations name. Spaz crossed her arms over her chest, scowling heatedly.
"This is it, then?" She asked, rather sarcastically "Where they do magic? Or where you get pissed out of your bleedin' mind?"
This brought forth a glare from her companion.
"Spaz," He chided, tone more paternal than ever the girl had heard him "be decent. They don' tolera'e tha' kin' o' language from th' students." He glared down at her somewhat sternly, and Spaz seemed to shrink a little bit, seeming more like a child than ever. She nodded meekly and shuffled after Raz into the darkness of the tavern.
Inside it was like any other dive she'd ever been to, burn-marked tables, dim lights, every kind of cheap liquor one could possibly hope for. Well, supposedly. Spaz would've been rudely awakened, had she the chance to read the labels on the oddly shaped bottles behind the bar.
What she did notice, however, were the clientele, who all seemed to be dressed in odd, colourful robes. She wrinkled her nose, looking up toward Razzle.
"Oh! I get it, now!" She grinned, extricating her wrist from Razzles grasp to clap her hands excitedly "It's, like, a Ren faire, then, right?" she asked, looking at a pair of rather hideous women seated at the bar, deep in conversation.
Raz chuckled, starting to usher her along again
"No' qui'e, lass." He said vaguely as he tipped his bald head in greeting to the bartender.
"Then what IS it?!" asked Spaz, exasperated, but expecting no real answer as her shooed her out the wooden, squeaky-hinged back door.
Raz shushed her as he pulled a long, thin wooden stick for within the confines of his leather jacket. Scowling, Spaz watched as he tapped several bricks on the back wall with the tip of said instrument, and, before her eyes, a portal to another world was opened in the wall.