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 HAIFISCH, Martijn :DD
Aidan Del Torro
 Posted: Jun 30 2016, 01:11 PM
Quote
Tine
7th
Muggleborn
Ravenclaw
17 YEARS
517 posts
Offline
AEGIS
Slow conversations with a gun mean more than I've ever said

Rep: 8 pts [ + | - ]
Aidan Del TorroRavenclaw Novice
Awards: 10



Bad words.

There were people in this world who liked to claim that money did not mean happiness. Unfortunately, these people usually had plenty of said money, and would never understand how it was much more comfortable to cry in a cab than in a public transport device. Money might not mean instant happiness, yet it allowed certain luxuries that held the power of making sad people slightly more content. It could buy guns and drugs, and even sex if necessary - and was that not all people needed? Once upon a time, Aidan had read about men in Japan who offered comfort for payment - and for someone like him, the idea did not sound too bad, if he wouldn’t shy away from most physical encounters so much. A little comfort would make him happy, maybe. But even that was something you had to pay for. Not even death was free - you paid for it with your life, after all. And that was one of the lessons the young man had learned already.

The Del Torros had never been rich. In fact, they had always been on the edge of poverty, with too many children in a small house, and never enough money for extravagant wishes such as a Play Station 3 or holidays in a fancy hotel. The only holidays they ever had took place in Spain, because his aunt let them stay with her in her house. Money was something that took effort and hard work - at least that was what he had thought until Damían had introduced him into the easier ways of making money, which served them right to support their mother after Stephen Del Torro died and left nothing but debts behind. Aidan knew that a little robbery and enough drugs sold could fulfill small dreams, yet he also liked the dream higher on some days. He wanted his driving license, and maybe a small car for the time after graduation. He wanted to make sure that his sisters could go to a good college, and maybe he even wanted to attend university himself, as he saw little chances for him to find a suitable career in the magical world.

Money - together with these wishes - was the reason why he was walking down the corridors today, the afternoon sun peeking through the windows and warming his back. As usual, the small eagle had his hands dug deep in the pockets of his hoodie, and the hood pulled over his head, brown streaks falling into his face. Careful instructions were leading him towards one particular broom closet in the castle, accompanied by the promise of making some sickles more, expanding business even. He was suspicious, and who could blame him? Normal people did not make business in closets, and Aidan wondered if the broom closet was just a fucked-up metaphor for being in the closet. He did not know what he had to expect from the upcoming meeting, and he would not even be surprised if he found an empty closet and another bunch of dream bubbles popped in front of his eyes. Life liked kicking his ass, and Aidan slowly got used to it.

With a short, practised glance, he looked over his shoulder, before turning to face the closet again. Secret missions and committing crime under the eyes of authorities were two of his very few skills aside from healing, and most of them he learned from his big brother rather than from this school. Dealing with drugs was the kind of business that took place in shady corners and hidden behind pillars, so Aidan knew how to move without being noticed - and being small and unobtrusive in general was quite helpful.

He hesitated a moment longer before raising his hand and knocking on the wood. Dios, he found himself very ridiculous in this moment, yet it seemed like the effort was paying off, as the door gave way as soon as he pushed. A short, Spanish curse left Aidan’s lips as he entered, throwing the door shut behind him again and finally looked up. Oh fuck.

@Constantijn Huizinga
(clothes)

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Constantijn Huizinga
 Posted: Jul 7 2016, 06:54 AM
Quote
$$$ammeh
7th year
Slytherin -cough-
17 YEARS
30 posts
Offline
tell 'em that shit's expensive

Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]
Constantijn HuizingaHufflepuff Beginner
Awards: 1



Martijn hardly ever knew the faces that came into his shop. Of course there were the regulars; those kids who refused to actually study their way through Hogwarts -surprisingly a lot of Ravenclaws amongst their kind- or those who just couldn't pass without the necessary help. Those categories obviously knew how much money to lay on his desk for each sheet of test answers, unless he decided to rev up the price a little to compensate for a sudden popularity. The magical school of Britain held way more students than those few unfortunate souls, however, and the seventh year hardly cared to get to know them all. His sister mostly did that work for him anyway. She had the gift of being talkative, actually knew names of the other students in her house and beyond without actually trying. it came naturally to her, just like knowing when batter needed more sugar or how he could tell how much galleons were in a stack just by it's size rather than counting each little line in between the silver.

Business was more than faked smiles and casual smalltalk that didn't get either end of the conversation anywhere. If the goods were good enough, the customers would do the talking and that was the best advertisement one could possibly get. Martijn simply couldn't care to bring himself to smile just to cash in an extra sickle or two, so he took those wise words of advise to heart. If anything, it did seem to work with regular knocks in the right combination sounding against the shoddy broom closet door ever so often. Today wasn't any different, neither on the subject of customers or his own habits of handling said customers.

"What d'you need?" He huffed around his cigarette, barely looking up from his papers.

It was hardly ever surprising anymore to see people perplexed, so why bother. The broom closet had become almost a second home over the years- as he could hardly call Hogwarts or his mother's one, no matter if both had Mats or not- but that didn't mean other people were used to it. He thrived in the order of paperwork stacked in shelves and boxes, of the ease alphabetical registers offered when working. The time it took to set up extension charms such as the ones on the closet had taken him and his sisters years to achieve; a slow process that grew like an exponential graph. He had been able to see it move forward and knew what hard work was behind them. Hogwarts' students did not. Every year kids left and new ones came in, and the word of the business had to reach them sooner or later.

If only he cared about their looks of utter wonder upon opening the broom closet as much as he did for the galleons ringing in their pockets.

Too bad this kid looked like every sliver of coins fell through his pockets without him possibly knowing. And Martijn thought this in every bad way it could be interpreted. Luckily his mouth had never felt all that talkative, even before the cigarettes had to be kept in place, so he refrained from commenting. It wasn't because he himself preferred to not let anyone know about his current clothes being one of the only fancier ones he owned, but mostly principle. Looks were the first aspect people judged on, way sooner than anyone could open their mouths to excuse themselves. Yet it didn't exactly look like this guy would ever excuse himself for it either. The Hufflepuff didn't mind, anyone who came in here knew they had to pay. Business was harsh, but so was life.

---

@Aidan Del Torro

--------------------
HUIZINGA & CO.
SALES AND SERVICES
Ground floor, Broom closet

SLYTHERIN
{ wear }
PM
^
Aidan Del Torro
 Posted: Jul 8 2016, 10:19 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Muggleborn
Ravenclaw
17 YEARS
517 posts
Offline
AEGIS
Slow conversations with a gun mean more than I've ever said

Rep: 8 pts [ + | - ]
Aidan Del TorroRavenclaw Novice
Awards: 10



Aidan had little ideas of how business actually worked, aside from receiving money for the goods he had. He knew how to increase prices if necessary, and he knew how to make people spend more than they planned by simply repeating phrases Damían had used a long time ago. For his brother, drug dealing was easier - he had the height and the face of someone who could cause serious damage if he only wanted to, while Aidan himself was too small (and some might even say too adorable) to scare anyone into doing what he wanted. He had to deal with whatever was given to him, and that was a resting bitchface on some days and little will to break when people tried to convince him. Increasing his circles was obviously what he was here for, and the main reason he had even bothered with walking towards a fucking broom closet, with a ridiculous boy behind a desk. That was indeed how Aidan Del Torro was wasting his life these days. He might as well just stay in bed and never wake up again, it would spare him the embarrassment of such encounters.

Constantijn Huizinga had the kind of face of which Aidan wanted a photograph of, only to stick it to a dart board and throw arrows at it. He looked kind of smug, and these clothes he wore displayed something the Spaniard did not quite envy, yet also did not enjoy. But why in all heaven’s names would a rich kid move to a broom closet and play CEO in there? Aidan did not understand, and maybe he did not have to, either. The place was strangely neat for something hidden in a closet, and he almost missed cobwebs in the corners and the scent of old socks he had expected. That explained the surprised, if not shocked expression on his face before the other boy’s voice broke through the silence and shook him out of his frozen position.

He crossed his arms and approached the desk, chewing on the insides of his cheeks while his gaze wandered around the room once more. It was not like he needed anything, and he wondered if Huizinga even knew who was sent to him before they actually revealed themselves to him. How annoying, had Aidan really brought himself into the position of offering his services to someone? To someone living in a closet. The small eagle was still not over that fact, and the comments were still burning on the tip of his tongue, like bullets ready to be fired.

“I don’t need anything from you. I’ve been sent here for...business,” he finally said, with a very vague gesture towards the cigarette of Constantijn, which looked dramatically self-made - and fuck knows what the kid was smoking there, as Aidan had grown immune to the scent of weed by now, even if it was actually there. “Isn’t that a fire hazard, anyway? In a closet.” The taunting question tumbled over the boy’s lips before he could stop himself, while his expression did not change at all.

@Constantijn Huizinga

--------------------

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Jess made me a thing <3
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Constantijn Huizinga
 Posted: Jul 25 2016, 03:27 PM
Quote
$$$ammeh
7th year
Slytherin -cough-
17 YEARS
30 posts
Offline
tell 'em that shit's expensive

Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]
Constantijn HuizingaHufflepuff Beginner
Awards: 1



Martijn blinked once, twice and almost allowed himself to sigh as he lifted his wand up to the almost forgotten cigarette between his lips. Sometimes he dared to wonder if he loved the feeling of paper between his lips as much as in between his fingers, rather than the nicotine engulfing the inside of his lungs. The Incendio was one of those spells that people did not need to tell him twice upon telling him about it. How many lighters did he go through beforehand? In a year? Entirely too many, that was for sure. Magic was weird, ridiculous and utmost helpful most of the time. Best of all though: it was laughably free. And wasn't that all that mattered. He puffed- oh, the nicotine did really mattered. With a casual blow -away from his paperwork- he finally addressed the question, although with little enthusiasm. "We're in a magic school…"

He doubted this kid was a squib, rather a muggleborn. Trivial problems could be solved with magic, wasn't that the biggest life lesson 'magic school' taught them all when it wasn't already ingrained in their non-pureblood brains. Besides not needing a decent education for the world out there, of course. Turning cats into goblets was a more fitting life lesson than accounting could ever be. Mind you, Martijn didn't really mind. It only meant open markets for his business and a monopoly so solid he could brush off every spec of dust. Oh, nobody was going to take any of this away from him; not Plunkett and certainly no teacher or caretaker. He would be long gone before anyone could catch a scent, easy like the flick of a tea towel. Let everyone fumble around trying to brush boggarts from under their beds; he had math to let himself sleep without nay nightmares. He took another quick drag before turning to his papers and taking out the file with papers destined for people who didn't slide careful sickles across his desk, but dumped them there to make it rain with a sweet melody.

Not that many of his so called 'co-workers' took the time to read everything through. Paperwork was just to make everything more official, and give the so-called Slytherin more grip on the situation. It was neat, orderly, handy. Contracts were better than magic, especially when they sported an autograph underneath. It kept the business running bigger than two siblings could ever handle it, no matter how much they wanted it to. Gryffindors were especially generous with more than just their house pride, and most of the ones who worked under Huizinga & Co didn't mind the extra dime or two -no more- for 'past school activities' they partook in anyway. Sometimes he really was grateful Mats made in into said house. Then again, she didn't seem to disappoint with pushing a Ravenclaw his way. This one looked like he needed more sleep, however. Then again, all Ravenclaws looked like there wasn't enough time in their days.

Organizing was a friend.

"hmm, Mats sent ye'." A flick of his wand made it look more like a book fanning open than just a selected collection of papers in one neat little folder. The Dutchman didn't like touching papers when being occupied by cigarettes. Yellowing fingers were disgusting enough, if not unprofessional. There was a reason why he kept nicotine smell from his clothes with some more spellwork- he couldn't exactly take the time to clean them often since he only owned two neat ensembles. The right piece of parchment shifted itself out of the feathering stack and soundlessly everything closed again. With smoke leaving his lips, Martijn handed the other the contract before letting his hand rest on that place under his slacks where his protruding hipbone was situated. He nodded towards the paper.

"Everythin's in there." He was just going to assume this kid could read his jargon.

---

@Aidan Del Torro

--------------------
HUIZINGA & CO.
SALES AND SERVICES
Ground floor, Broom closet

SLYTHERIN
{ wear }
PM
^
Aidan Del Torro
 Posted: Jul 26 2016, 01:02 PM
Quote
Tine
7th
Muggleborn
Ravenclaw
17 YEARS
517 posts
Offline
AEGIS
Slow conversations with a gun mean more than I've ever said

Rep: 8 pts [ + | - ]
Aidan Del TorroRavenclaw Novice
Awards: 10



“Oh, of course. Magical sprinklers in case you set your own ass on fire,” Aidan muttered more to himself than to his new business partner, as he did not quite aim for being thrown out of this closet. But obviously, he was not very good at getting thrown out, otherwise he wouldn’t be attending this school any longer due to owning, selling and taking drugs, as well as a few other small delicts everyone was quite eager to look over in order to keep him here. How annoying. Then again, the Spaniard would not know what to do outside of school. He could always follow his brother’s footsteps of becoming a more and more known criminal around Hackney, but did he even want to make a career as a criminal? Not really.

“Yeah, Mats was her name, I guess,” Aidan confirmed, just to say anything and not to feel like a complete idiot in front of people who seemed to be smarter, richer and a lot more organised than he was himself. He did not like feeling inferior to people and reminded himself that he had been hired for this, because someone seemed to think he could be useful for this guy. After all, he was a Ravenclaw - he could name all the bones in the human body by their latin names, he could do fast maths in his head when he needed to, and he could weigh the right portion of weed without a scale. What more skills did a man need? Once more, his chocolate-coloured gaze wandered through the closet, before he watched Constantijn taking out papers. Really? Who did Huizinga think he was, Donald Trump on a fasting cure?

However, Aidan did not have much of a choice when he was handed the contract, wiping a few brown strands that fell into his eyes out of his face before he scanned the words that were written down, sighing a little in annoyance. He would not put his name underneath it before he had not read every single word, just in case this boy was Donald Trump in training indeed. “Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me…,” he mumbled and shook his head, before he continued reading. It was almost fascinating how much dedication must go into this makeshift business to keep it running like this. Aidan himself was only dedicated to very few things in life, he could not quite feel the sentiment - but he could appreciate it.

The small eagle took a step forward and placed the paper on the desk, knocking his bony knuckle against the surface of it. “Do you have a pen or do I need to sign this with a bloody fingerprint?” Aidan asked as he looked up, raising a brow at the boy while the typical scent of broom closet mixed with the nicotine of the cigarette. Really, he should start taking this whole business deal more serious. “That all sounds fair enough, I guess,” he added, making sure he had actually read the paper before signing it. There he was, selling his soul in a broom closet. This was such a good metaphor for life indeed.

@Constantijn Huizinga

--------------------

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Constantijn Huizinga
 Posted: Jan 6 2017, 03:07 PM
Quote
$$$ammeh
7th year
Slytherin -cough-
17 YEARS
30 posts
Offline
tell 'em that shit's expensive

Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]
Constantijn HuizingaHufflepuff Beginner
Awards: 1



Martijn had never been exceptionally good at reading people, or rather never wanted to be was a better way to describe it. Sure, he could throw mental remarks about someone, pick up bits and pieces as people in front of him talked and he did not. After some time, however, the wizard made a mental note to stop. As the conversations went on those thoughts only felt like judging them more than anything else. Kids back in primary school saw his clothes and could make easy assumptions well before hearing anything he had to say. They could see him now, all dressed up in clothes that were the most expensive item in his entire bedroom, and think something entirely different. Yet, not that much had changed, now had it? What was there to judge.

He didn’t have the right.

He saw a muggleborn kid and casually handed him a ballpoint pen from a desk drawer rather than a quill and some ink. His eyes fell on the easy signs of frustration under clothes he knew well enough. The wear and tear of the fabric and personality that went along with it. Yet there were no comments as the other read, although it was easy enough to open his mouth and reply back with something equally snide. Nor would there be words of sympathy or acknowledgement either. Martijn was sure that in the end everything would find its place and how hard work brought people places they couldn’t imagine before. Therefore he remained silent and pushed any judgemental remarks out of his brain, reminding himself he had been in a similar place not that long ago. Or so the Dutchman thought.

Mathilde had made the decision to go and talk to this kid, which was reason enough for him to go along with it. Moving the office chair back and seating himself, the seventh year took his spot behind the desk with another huff of smoke twirling in front of unimpressed features. Looking like an intimidating giant didn’t always have its merits, especially not when your client was an impressive five feet nothing. Looking down his nose wouldn’t do this situation any good either. Instead the cigarette found its place right in between index and middle fingers, neatly on the desk surface.

“You don’t have to decide right now, you know.” Got thrown on the table as an offering, chin tilting slightly sideways in question. Understanding jargon was one thing, binding yourself to a contract was another. The kid would be of no use if he was here against this own will anyway. Which brought the so-called-Slytherin to his next question; what did this kid need the money for anyway. Thirdly, gruffly and out loud: “What’s your name anyway?”

---

@Aidan Del Torro

--------------------
HUIZINGA & CO.
SALES AND SERVICES
Ground floor, Broom closet

SLYTHERIN
{ wear }
PM
^
Aidan Del Torro
 Posted: Jan 8 2017, 12:19 PM
Quote
Tine
7th
Muggleborn
Ravenclaw
17 YEARS
517 posts
Offline
AEGIS
Slow conversations with a gun mean more than I've ever said

Rep: 8 pts [ + | - ]
Aidan Del TorroRavenclaw Novice
Awards: 10



Aidan Del Torro’s life had reached the worrying point where things just kept happening to him and he did not even bother any longer. And if he was going to be honest with himself - because, what good had lying to himself ever done? - being trapped in a broom closet with some pretty tall, Dutch guy could by now be counted as a regular situation. Or at least one that was a lot less terrifying and mentally scarring than the situations he had been in within the past months. Really, what was he complaining about? There were no guns or dead people involved, not even blood or other body fluids from his shifts at the Hospital Wing. The scent of nicotine was almost a comforting one, the kind of smell that lingered in your clothes longer than you wanted it to and would spread faster than he could excuse himself for it in the whole dorm the longer he stayed with this boy in here.

The ballpoint pen he was handed felt almost painfully familiar in his fingers - so much more familiar than quills did. This pen was the kind of writing device he used for quick sketches in his notebook, to draw outlines on huge pieces of paper only to tear them apart once he was done, as he never seemed to finish anything he started. If there was really an artist’s soul in his body, it must be a goddamn shitty artist who liked the torture and pain of art more than he liked the outcome of being actually successful. Vaguely the boy remembered when he had been hired to draw posters for the gypsy girl and her circus show - but it was not like she had paid him decently for it. Real graphic designers were paid a whole lot more for their efforts, and maybe that was a career he should pursue one day when he was done with all this magic crap.

Going to university or really just a normal school was just as far away as his wish to be healer - both needed a solid education, and no muggle school would take him with papers from Hogwarts, while his grades in general were a fucked-up mess (and that was a nice way to put it). Maybe he should ask Huizinga for his services before signing these contracts - was he not the guy who sold pre-written essays and test solutions? The Spaniard could really need them, to be honest. Unfortunately he was here to work for Constantijn, and not to get work done by this guy - or by whoever was writing these essays. You don’t have to decide right now, you know. What was the kid thinking, that he was going to come back down here? No thanks, baby.

Aidan huffed - which was more of a reply than most professors got out of him on a good day - before scribbling his signature underneath the contract, leaning with his elbows on the desk while the pen scratched over the paper, taking in the texture of the wooden surface underneath it. And just as he shoved the sheet of paper over the desk, Huizinga was asking for his name - almost like an afterthought, as if names did not matter. Aidan would enjoy a world where names did not mean shit. He stood straight again, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie nervously down to his fingertips again before replying. “Aidan. Are we done here?”

@Constantijn Huizinga

--------------------

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Jess made me a thing <3
PM
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Constantijn Huizinga
 Posted: Apr 17 2017, 07:47 AM
Quote
$$$ammeh
7th year
Slytherin -cough-
17 YEARS
30 posts
Offline
tell 'em that shit's expensive

Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]
Constantijn HuizingaHufflepuff Beginner
Awards: 1



The fingers with a cigarette in between tapped the desk, a human metronome ticking away the seconds while the kid read. At least he read, that was important. There were more than enough of them, mostly Gryffindors of course, who couldn't sign their scribble on that parchment quick enough. Not caring if they'd just sold their soul to the devil, or gave away their mother for 3 knuts at most. In the end, all they cared for was the money, the minimum wage to fill in the gaps in between classes and Hogsmeade parties. Martijn couldn't blame them, but that didn't mean he didn't.

Kid was a Ravenclaw for a reason apparently. He was smart enough to read every line, and then to sign the papers still. The cigarette found its way to his mouth once more, as if he needed to inhale the nicotine in order to speak words that sounded equally gruff. The smoke slowly crawled out of his mouth before he spoke. "Depends, that the only thing you came for?"

Aidan. Sadly it wasn't a thing Martijn would remember in the end. Mats remembered those, she did the talking. In the end the wizard was more comfortable with just signatures on paper, and doing his best recalling faces the more they came in and out of his broom closet. In the end, most just came for wares, not a friendly chat anyway. There were common rooms for that sort of stuff, and there it didn't cost you a single dime. Aidan would come in, get paid and be out again. That's how it always went. Names were just a formality.

He took the paper and pen, giving the first a quick lookover to check if everything was in order. it usually was. He didn't take a Ravenclaw as someone to screw something as simple as an autograph up. Then again, the house had its cloudcuckoolanders more than any other. "Close the door on you way out."

---

@Aidan Del Torro

--------------------
HUIZINGA & CO.
SALES AND SERVICES
Ground floor, Broom closet

SLYTHERIN
{ wear }
PM
^
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