Bohemian Rhapsody ~ Sunday 7th of January 1979

[Katya Karkaroff]

This was why she traveled. To be able to immerse yourself in the culture and chat up fascinating people you might never have met otherwise. Her mama teasingly called her a gypsie, and she supposed that was the nicest way to explain their daughter’s nomadic lifestyle to the neighbors when the rest of the family managed to stay close to home. But why would she have wanted to stay in the little town where she grew up, talking only to the people she had known her entire life and heard every one of their stories (or having been there to experience it firsthand herself), when she could be in London?!

Selene had suggested a little art gallery when Katya admitted her need for a night out on the town. The days spent sitting in a stiff wooden chair answering questions that she’d never thought would be asked of her, filling out form after form after form all in the hopes of correcting the issue with her work visa…how people suffered through that as their chosen profession was beyond her. She was not meant for a life of sitting behind a desk, of going to the same building day in and day out for years on end. The novelty of her fight had worn off rather quickly, even if she was warming to the intern who was helping with her case, but she couldn’t sit inside a dull grey building any longer or else she might lose her mind. Tucked down a muggle cobblestone alley, a metal rolling door drawn on the buildings on either side indicating fine arts were not the original intended goods to be sold in this part of the city, a vivid light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows from inside the pristine white walled gallery. The people here were dressed in posh, somber-colored outfits as if they were attending a funeral and not a social event. It might have been difficult to tell the waitstaff from the patrons if not for the large trays of drinks and delicate appetizers they carried.

“This will be first thing I make when I get proper kitchen,” she remarked to her friend of the potato and chutney treat she had sampled before cornering the caterer to get the recipe. She had not yet been to India but if the Indian food in England was anything to go off, she would absolutely have to plan a trip there once this whole Soviet spy debacle was behind her. It wasn’t that she was disinterested in the paintings or sculptures on display. On the contrary Katya had admired several pieces and spoken with others in attendance about the evocated emotions and what the artist might have meant to convey in their choice of color, etc. but she had since finished off several glasses of champagne thanks to a lanky server who always seemed to find her with a fresh tray of drinks, and Kat was now well into her own little adventures for the evening. Already she had proclaimed that she could have painted something similar (if not better) to no less than three of the abstract canvas pieces hung about the gallery, attempted to convince an old muggle woman who smelled of bottled roses and musty furs that she wanted to buy a massively large portrait of a naked couple floating in a space-like void, and had managed to track down the recipe for the aloo chaat cups she enjoyed so much.

“Oго!” Kat gasped loudly, grabbing her friend’s arm excitedly. “Look at this one. You need this, yes?” She had dragged her friend to a painting on black canvas of oblong shapes and splotches that looked almost reminiscent of people, dogs, and one shape that looked like some sort of instrument, but it was white whereas most of the other shapes were red. Nothing in this gallery was within budget for either witch aside from the free drinks and snacks, but the red was calling to her and she was delightfully drunk.

*Oh wow!

[Selene Faolan]

They were all playing pretend. Playing along, humoring each other as they jockeyed for prime posturing position, arguing with airs about color theory, historical basis and bias - they were all in on the same secret joke, or so they thought, and safe for it. When Selene first began engaging in life on this side of London, she'd been on high alert, nerves pulled taut as a piano's strings even as she attempted to exude the haughty nonchalance that typically brought her comfort. She half-convinced herself that she would be found out, that the non-magical folk would feel in their bones that she didn't belong among them, that pitchforks would materialize in their callous-free hands - and she'd be forced run, or become the nightmare they knew she was.

And yet - the temptation to explore once finally on her own, and the confidence that she could escape in a flash if needed, was all too great to keep her confined to wizarding London alone.

When understanding dawned that the real secret among such crowds was that she was the most dangerous being in the space, despite any wriggling claims to fame or power that others tried to hold on to - well, that did away with the nerves.

She was learning how far she could get in a trendy black dress, how little the muggles actually noticed and how easy it was to appease their questions, and how misplaced her fears were. They were as wrapped up in their own affairs as any of her own fellows were, and terribly nearsighted - and amusing - for it. So, when Katya was itching to flee her room at the Leaky, Selene was ready. And while she'd welcome the distraction of her friend at Pandemonium when she was on shift, the club was hardly where she liked spending her rare free time.

Her beautiful friend was a natural. Kat charmed the artists, patrons, and caterers alike, and Selene was left smiling more than she ever did in this crowd of acquaintances as she watched her flit about. While she tended to keep a safe distance when Selene played in muggle London - no one here was useful to her long-term goals, even if a few could be counted on for trinkets and drinks of equal sparkle - Katya had no such qualms. It had been quite some time since they'd shared their lives, with Kat studying and traveling abroad until arriving in London a few weeks prior, and Selene felt the old familiar feeling of jealousy at her friend's ease with others creeping up. But she swallowed it, along with the last drops of a slender glass of champagne - it was good to have a friend from school here with her now, as so few were in Britain, and fewer still were those she would seek out.

And it was good to see Katya light and happy, glowing with a smile as she applauded the appetizers. She deserved it, especially after these last few weeks of frustration. ”I’ll be there to taste test,” Selene invited herself with a grin of her own. Kat took her arm, seeing something through the warm haze of champagne bubbles that they could not miss, and pulled her along to an enormous canvas in audible delight. Selene looped her arm through her friend’s, dark eyes roving through the movement of the painting, two- and four-legged shades of red fighting to run through the blackness of it, only to be overshadowed by the barest negative space. She cocked her head, eyes narrowed. A flute, or a whistle? Through the low din of chatter and soft music piped into the gallery, was she only imagining that she heard its piercing cry?

Perhaps her friend was not the only one indulging tonight.

”Za etu tsenu?”* Selene raised a critical brow, not bothering to lower her voice as she usually would when giving insult - if she hadn’t picked up a few choice phrases from Kat and the other students from her region, she would have been left out in the cold. ”Chtob ya sdokhla,” she declared, patting the witch’s hand fondly as she turned with a wry smile. ”It has a certain drama to it, I’ll give you that. But we should be decorating your flat, Katyusha.” This foolish legal battle that Kat was in the middle of would pass soon, there was no other option that Selene would accept - and then she would be free to move and work and live as she pleased. If she had her sights on something here, truly…perhaps they could make a new friend out of one of the lonely well-to-do, and bring something “home.” Attention more on the patrons than on the artwork, Selene got them slowly walking arm-in-arm along the wall of paintings. ”Which would you take if you could, hmm?”

*For this price? I’d rather die.

[Katya Karkaroff]

The sass from her friend delivered in her own mother tongue forced a snort of laughter from the witch. Kat grinned at her friend, nodding in agreement. Nothing here was within their price range, but it was fun to pretend. Imagine this massive canvas that cost more than a year’s rent for a room at the Leaky Cauldron simply overwhelming Selene’s little sitting room or covering the entirety of her bedroom wall. It made her giggle, or else that was the champagne. Perhaps both.

Despite it being admittedly small, Katya was minutely envious of Selene’s flat. That feeling would pass once her own legal troubles did, she knew, but for the moment Selene had something Katya could only dream of. She wouldn’t fault her friend’s optimism though, because one way or another her battle would end and yes, Katya would need to do some decorating of her own in the hopefully not-so-distant future. The only true question was what country she would be living in when that time came. “Do we trust Misters Noorwood and Vahnderheed can actually keep me in London?” She sighed, not as depressed as she ought to be by the thought, but more exhausted from this arduous battle. “We will see what come of that…” she paused to consider the correct word in English, but her inebriated mind could only manage “razdrazheniye.” It was her hope that things would be coming to an end shortly, that her battle with two foreign governments would be remedied soon once all the facts were laid out before them, but the Brits were slow to act and one could never quite trust the Americans to make smart decisions. “Wherever I go, I will need something pretty to look at.” The lanky server appeared again with a tray of fresh drinks and Kat grabbed two, passing one to Selene.

It was not lost on her that Selene’s gaze fell on the gallery’s patrons in that moment more than the art as they sauntered along the edge of the room. What surrounded them was a somewhat motley crew despite their obvious unifying characteristic of possessing some form of disposable income. Old and young. Men and women. Portly and fit. Diverse ethnic backgrounds and nationalities; Katya’s was not the only novel accent in the room. “That is good question,” she replied thoughtfully. Her choices were nearly endless in this room, such diversity surrounding them and only a handful of pieces had a little sticker beside their plaques denoting they were off the market. It was a shame they might never know which items now belonged to those walking among them and who, like the witches strolling arm in arm, were only playing like they belonged there. Katya’s drunken excitement perhaps gave her away more easily than Selene’s reserved composure. “So many options, it is hard to choose.”

*irritation