Shade and sunlight...
     The end of February in London is a bitter time of year, an unforgiving sort of place to try to sort together anything meaningful from broken bits and pieces.
     It's harder still when some of that shade and lack of sunlight is created by the twin towers of Paolo and Rafe, who seem determined that not even a flake of snow should land on their younger cousin while she is in their care. For all that this might not be entirely by their choice, Sabine is feeling particularly vindictive and unforgiving.
     She enters Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, the long black cloak swirling around her in the proper Slytherin fashion. She paid good money to make sure that it did; if it stopped, she'd have to do something. Maybe she almost wishes it would; her palm itches to do something destructive with her wand. A flat green-limned gaze takes in the shops and the modest crowd around the cobblestoned streets.
     "We'll go to the bank," Sabine tells the two, voice crisp and cool. "I'll draw some coin before I decide what we'll do next. And Paolo? If you step on the back of my shoe one more time..."
 
     Copper hair gleams with fire-bright highlights in the sun, as if in contrast to the shade which dogs Sabine's steps. With the striking fire-red flow broken only by the black leather strap binding all back into a ponytail, dragonhide leather jacket half-open despite the chill, hands stuffed into his pockets and blue gaze somewhere beyond the crowds in the street, William Weasley unconsciously strikes a rather dashing figure where he stands atop the steps leading up into Gringott's.
     But if there are no physical shadows which fall upon this rakish figure, the same cannot be said of spiritual shadows; a true Breaker, they say, lives for the runs, and Bill was said to be one of the best among the Corps. Despite his cheerfully rakish attitude, sometimes the loss strikes him hard, and rarely with more strength than when he stands here at what was once his employer.
     After a moment, Bill shakes his head and descends the steps towards the streets of Diagon Alley, a day-pack slung over one shoulder. Familiar faces are met with a charming smile and warm greeting, as if social pleasantries could mask the emptiness inside that Bill tries to hide even from himself.
 
     The twins say no more than ever - silent as the grave, they usually are, when away from the kumpania. It's led some to think they're deaf-mutes, or mutes, at least - and why give up a weapon, really? They shrug, falling back into step behind Sabine, glowering ominously at anyone who gets too close.
     Really, if they were a bit uglier, they could pass for Crabbe and Goyle...
     There's a contrast at work. Copper hair, summer-blue gaze, every appearance and every step seeming almost to echo in mocking defiance of Slytherin and of Tradition (at least in some minds!) - and in the other corner ...
     Sabine climbs the marble steps, heading into the bank and lifting one hand to loosen her cloak a little. She's away from the school - well and truly away, which means no need to hide her true colours. Even by Diagon Alley's standards, she's a bit exotic. A gypsy princess, accompanied by two young gypsy men. Paolo and Rafe are dressed almost simply, white linen tunics open at the neck, beaten copper armlets slid up over the left bicep for one, the right for the other, one in a green vest and the other in a blue. Both wear black trousers and brown leather boots and silver hoops - silver, not gold.
     She is not to be overshadowed by her escort. The dark hair's allowed free of her habitual braids and ponytails, bound back from her face with an intricate arrangement of silver wire set with emerald and cobalt. It frames her face, keeping the dark tendrils from creeping forward. Under the black cloak, she's clad in a pale green voile bound in by a black vest that's cut low, laced closed, dark green skirts ruffled with peacock blue fringe that gets kicked up whenever she picks up her pace. The voile has long shimmering sleeves with snug-fitting wrists, for some reason...
     "I don't see why you two need to walk quite so closely," Sabine remarks acerbically in Rom, reaching to her waist for a pouch as she glances back to Rafe (the one on the left, this time, it seems). "After all, there is nothing here of any conceivable danger to me."
     Physically, at least...
 
     While Sabine makes her way through the world in a sea of tradition and ritual, the former Breaker seems to make up the rules as he goes, relying on his considerable talents and seemingly supernatural luck to see him through. Normally, this means that he can recover from unexpected situations much more quickly than others might.
     Of course, normally he doesn't bump into his apparent fiancee in the middle of Diagon Alley, either.
     Noticing the looming figures of Rafe and Paolo approaching, Bill moves to step slightly to one side so as not to present an obstruction to their path. Then he catches a closer glimpse of the Ruthven twins, and stiffens slightly as he realizes simultaneously who they are and who they are escorting. For a moment, Bill seems at a loss, as he tries to mentally shift gears from Bill Weasley, Curse Breaker, to Prince William Marshall.
     Of course, those moments are enough for Sabine and her honor guard to draw close enough to recognize his distinctive jacket, hair, and earring.
 
     Turning to face forward again - after all, how embarrassing, possibly fatally so, for the Ruthven acrobat, and more to the point, princess, to trip up! - Sabine is in a mood to snarl at Rafe's lack of response and lack of distance.
     Her mood is not visibly improved upon spotting a singularly recognizable ponytail, earring, and jacket.
     Pace slowing, Sabine draws her cloak more firmly about her shoulders again, as calmly and unhurriedly as if it were a pair of gloves. "Professor Weasley," she says with frigid politeness in English; followed by "Your highness," in Rom. The tone changes not in the slightest from one language to the other.
     One must always attend to these little touches of ceremony and dignity at the beginning of a sparring match or duel, mustn't one?
     "I see that you are without entourage today," Sabine resumes in English, voice cool, expression as remote and detached as if she were offering up a comment upon whether or not it might rain. "How ... tragic. Your arms must be quite cold."
 
     "Miss Ruthven," Bill replies, with uncharacteristic ceremony. Ritual has its place sometimes, after all. In flawless Rom he adds, "Your highness." Following Sabine's own change in languages, he adds dryly, "Ah, how well you know the Marshalls, Miss Ruthven. A girl in every city. Unfortunately, the position of girl for London is not filled at present; I fear I spent too much time in Cairo before this school year began, and have been lax in remedying this. Perhaps you'd like to audition?"
     Still, as he tosses his rejoinder back to the Ruthven Princess, there's something to those sky-blue eyes; a moment of pain, quickly hidden. Something in what Sabine said? Or something unrelated? Either way, it seems the verbal barbs are one way for Bill to shield himself from the thoughts that cross his mind.
 
     "Far be it for me to presume upon your heart, Professor," Sabine answers with aloof mockery, gesturing Paolo and Rafe away in the universal younger female relation motion of back off or I tell your girlfriends you wet the bed until age ten. "Particularly when there are so many worthier candidates than myself."
     She folds her hands demurely together in front of her in an almost prayerful gesture, palms flat, fingertips steepled. "Miss Abbot, for example, would I am sure be delighted if you were to turn your gaze upon her. And rather more your style, I imagine, yes? One Keeper in the family or two - no real difference." She smiles coldly, but there's a hint of something behind her gaze - almost a flinch, and just a hint of something which might resemble respect.
     How dare he be at all good at the Game, after all...
     Her hands come apart, one coming up to finger the strings of silver around her neck. "It seems that we are both far from the school's confines. A touch of claustrophobia, Professor?"
 
     "Miss Abbott is a pleasant enough girl," Bill agrees thoughtfully. "But I'm somewhat surprised you would recommend her as more worthy than yourself, Miss Ruthven. After all, I would think that Princess Hannah Marshall, of House Hufflepuff, would be even less to your liking than Prince William Marshall of Gryffindor has proven to be."
     He glances back at Gringott's before answering Sabine's second question, and for a moment his expression is unreadable. "No," he says finally. "No claustrophobia. Hardly a trait a Breaker could really afford, after all." Turning back to Sabine, he swings the day-pack off of his shoulder and presents it to the Ruthven girl so fluidly that the motion is hardly noticed. "They finally finished sorting through the last Breaker reports and let us retrieve the last of our gear. Every Breaker is allowed to keep a few relics or treasures we find on runs, but most of us kept them as tools for the Corps to use. I was just picking up mine."
     Swinging the bag back over his shoulder, he adds, "There was actually one of these relics which I had thought might serve you well, but I would not wish to force gifts on you, nor to in any way impede the errands you are doubtless on." He bends into a courtly bow with that damnably fluid grace which seems so much a part of who he is.
 
     There's an echo of that earlier suggestion of flinch, and Sabine's chin comes up haughtily, eyes flashing; but at the last moment, training overcomes temper, and when she speaks, it is in a tone of almost monotonous civility.
     "What I would wish, Your Highness, has very little bearing upon the matter. We both know this; why pretend otherwise? I am but a mere slip of a girl, ill-prepared to make decisions for myself." Dark eyelashes sweep down gracefully against her cheeks, hands resuming their pseudo-piety.
     She is aware of the movements, though, a glitter of grudging appreciation in her gaze. She may dislike circumstance; she may even dislike the Breaker, but for what is done well and gracefully...
     "A tool is never to be lightly dismissed," Sabine remarks distantly, and she turns a few degrees to the side, presenting a three-quarters profile as she absently runs a fingertip along the edge of her cloak's lining. "I ... would not bend nor break the bonds of courtesy, _your highness_," there's that emphasis upon title again, "by refusing a gift - unless the gift proves, of course, to be one which I may not or will not accept."
     Ah, yes. Slytherin she may be, opposed by Gryffindor and Weasley, but she still has her curiosity.
 
     "You are one of the brightest students in the school, and a Ruthven atop that," Bill replies, as he straightens. All hint of the dry tone is gone from his voice. In Rom, he adds, "You forget, Your Highness, that I have shared your dreams as I sought to untangle you from that curse; I know you better than that. We may be set at odds by our beliefs and heritages, but I respect you for all that. You are quite capable of making your own decisions."
     There is, however, a faint hint of irritation in Bill's own voice as he speaks of making your own decisions. Perhaps his own unease with this betrothal is not so much the partner as the fact that the match was forced upon him; Breakers tend to be the sort who prefer freedom in every aspect, be it freedom to pick their own jobs, or freedom to choose their own future.
     Regardless of the reason, Bill opens the day-pack once more, and removes a small golden pendant in the shape of a stylized hieroglyphic eye. With the chain looped around his hand once and the emblem glimmering in the winter sunlight, he explains, "I found this on one of my runs. It used to belong to a Pharaoh's seer, and grants clarity of Sight. To someone without the Sight who wears it, it simply strengthens natural intuition; that was how I have always used it. However, if a true Seer wears it, it strengthens their own ability to focus and pick out a specific thread among the visions." Turning his hand over, the chain and pendant are now pooled in his palm, ready to be taken. "I felt you might have more use for this than I would, Sabine."
 
     This time, the flinch is clearly visible to any within close range. It may have happened and she might have to admit to herself that someone else actually saw her dreams and memories, but acknowledging it to anyone else...! The dark gaze turns away sharply, and for a moment, the silver band she wears seems to almost hum with magic. She doesn't walk away, nor does she speak, allowing the discussion to continue, unimpeded.
     Even so, it's a moment before she turns back to regard the conditions unfolding, both hands now caught up in the edge of her cloak - as close to a public admission of unease as she is likely to make. The public venue is proving more handicap than aid in some ways - at least at Hogwarts, she could deliver some scathing parting blow and then run off to the Slytherin dorms, or to the sanctity of belowstairs, to hide behind Snape's protective aegis. Avoiding looking at the Breaker directly, she watches him pull the pendant out.
     At first, as the explanation comes, her eyes widen; then they narrow suspiciously. Tempting as it might be ... "What else does it do, Prince William?" Well, it's a step closer to informality, but not really, is it? The sharp gaze lifts, green-limned eyes meeting blue eyes, one eyebrow cocked skeptically.
     "What other ... spells are upon it ... for my own good?" Unconsciously, she lifts a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek, tapping the silver wire. "Does it influence me? Contain me? Or merely keep track of my location, Professor? Or is this entirely what it seems? Or perhaps I should not question, and ... just accept." There's a faintly bitter twist of her mouth, and she presses her lips together into a thin line until they whiten; then she nods once, reaching for the pendant.
     "I will accept your kind gift, and regret that I have nothing to offer you in return. I shall remedy that oversight at my first convenience." And in the meantime, go over the pendant with a finetooth magical comb.
 
     "Alas," Bill says, shaking his head with apparent sadness. "I fear there's no additional spells on it. When I retrieved it, I stripped the hex from it to make it safe to use once more, and as I find myself giving it to you here, mere minutes after retrieving it from my locker at Gringott's, I have not yet had time to properly re-hex it."
     Sobering, Bill does indeed hand the necklace over to Sabine, watching her in silence for a long moment before he speaks more somberly in Rom. "In truth, the benefit it gives one without the Sight is meager, while the benefit it gives one with the Sight is considerable. Think of it simply as placing a resource where it can do the most good; you will have more use for it than I do... and in truth, it may help you find her." There's little need to explain who the 'her' he refers to is; there's one woman who both Bill and Sabine have no liking for. The woman who sent her to her fate with the enfant, the woman who foisted a seemingly cursed ring off on Bill's youngest brother. Sabine's aunt.
 
     The girl goes quite still, fingers curved around the pendant, chain sliding through her fingers and dancing for a moment, vivid against the dark edge of her cloak. It's as if she's been hit with a paralysis hex by the act of taking the talisman.
     In the space of that moment, frozen though she might be, her expression remains the same - but the light behind her eyes changes, implying chaos beneath the sere and frigid surface.
     Find Esuala? And do what, then? Take vengeance? Confront one's fears? Confront the bitter truth?
     "I ... will keep your words in mind," Sabine manages, expression closed off once more, hand fisting around the eye. Not for worlds would she put it on here, in the middle of Gringotts, where anyone might see her act or react. Again, her other hand comes up to brush the concoction of silver wire twisted around emerald and cobalt, and then she turns her back abruptly on Bill, staring straight ahead of herself.
     "You are colder than I had thought," she remarks, voice suddenly lowered, speaking in Rom. "It seems I underestimate your skill as an opponent, Prince William. I shall not be so ill-prepared the next time we meet."
 
     With a grimace, Bill reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as if staving off a headache. "If you so choose, Princess Sabine," he replies in Rom. "I have, thus far, played by the rules of this Game as you seem to set them down. Were it up to me, however, I would rather call you friend than opponent. You have a sharp mind, good not only at learning facts and techniques but more importantly seeing how they may be used. Further, your physical and magical skills are on a par with your mental skills. However, I don't doubt that you will look for ulterior motives in my compliments, so I leave it at that and let you get back to your errands. I wish you well of the relic; Baxt grant you favor."
     He swings his day-pack back up onto his shoulder, and watches Sabine for a moment. "A shame," he mutters to himself, tone aggrieved and his in English again now. "One of the only students who really seems to have what it would take to be a good Breaker." Turning away, he slings the day-pack on his shoulder, and moves to depart into the crowds.
 
     Now, why on earth would a nice girl like Sabine ever provoke headaches in a fellow like Bill? One can only speculate.
     "I do not know your mind, Prince," Sabine answers sharply, then shivers. She lifts the fingertips of her left hand to the device she wears, eyes closed for a moment as she probes at it, explores it, then lets her fingers slip away to her side again. "I have no friends."
     She glances back over her shoulder, the cold mask slipping for a moment, leaving a half-furtive wariness warring with something brief and undefinable in its place. It is quickly replaced, however, and Sabine makes an impatient gesture to the twin Rom men, the necklace shoved into a hidden compartment of her cloak.
     "Baxt watch over you as well, Your Highness. Of the two of us, you have fewer watching over you now, and what enemies you had no doubt have multiplied for the ... aid ... which you gave me."
     It displeases her to have to admit to that aid, that she could not preserve herself - that she was pulled into the mire and has no easy way out. "Avoid gambling with friends. You will have better luck with strangers."
     With that cryptic warning or advice or prophecy, Sabine glowers at Rafe and Paolo, snapping, "Vax. We go." She's lost all taste for shopping all of a sudden, for some reason.