Shadowhunter imagines and preferences

Magnus*Trial

"Hungry?" Louise sat next to me on the pavement under the bridge. She held out a breakfast bar with a smirk.

"I'm fine," I shrug, going back to my book.

She rolls her eyes and tosses it onto my book, "Don't worry, I grabbed two," She pulled another out from her coat pocket. "Besides you know I'd always share,"

"That's what worries me," I said, putting a bookmark in my page and shutting the book. Putting the book in my backpack along with everything else I owned, I opened the breakfast bar, "Cheers," we clinked our bars like champagne glasses.

My mind jumped back to the last time I had champagne. I was in Paris, France, in 1912. it was just before the war, luckily, we'd left France just before to visit friends in Indonesia. Magnus and I never cared for the high-class company of Paris, but we cared deeply for the food and drink. It must've been a birthday, maybe an engagement, not that we cared.

"You alright?" Louise snapped me from my daze.

"Yeah fine," I gave a weak smile, turning to the breakfast bar. Despite how hungry I was I picked off small bites. Make it last longer. "We can't do this forever," I sighed.

Louise shrugged. "Well, its only a couple months till I'm 18. Then I'll be able to get a place and you can stay with me," she smiled. Louise was nice but naive. A runaway in the same torn coat from when she was 15. There was no point telling her to go home. By the sounds of things, the street was safer than her home.

"What about money? They'll want to prove you have a job and you've got savings,"

Her face screwed up, "You worry too much. Look we'll figure it out. How'd you even know all this?" I shrugged. "How old even are you?"

"17, same as you," I lied like second nature. I'd stopped aging around 18, 19 but being underage gives me a reason to be homeless. Well, not technically homeless, I own a couple different homes I just can't live there. The clave would find me. "Look I'm a pessimist. You know this,"

"Well, what I also know is that I want more than a breakfast bar. Lest go diving," She grinned, jumping up and holding out a hand.

I took it and let her haul me up, "New day, another crime, yay," I rolled my eyes.

"How'd you think I got the breakfast bars?" she rolled her eyes, "Besides when I'm a big shot with an even bigger paycheck I'll come back and make it right again,"

We had the same routine every day. Louise apparently 'perfected' its last year. This way we got to eat every day. I relocate every couple of years or so and start a new cycle to avoid questions. The claves less likely to find me and people don't realise I'm not aging. I'd come to Glasgow a couple months back and met Louise. She 'took me under her wing' as a runaway, not realising I'd been doing this since 1939.

The dive was a way to eat or get money. Louise walked up to a bin, me trying to shield her from view, and fished out a tub of thrown away food. Chips, burgers, nachos, something like that. Then you deliberately walk into someone and make it look like an accident then, crash!

Louise fell to the floor, dropping the chips everywhere. The businessman on the phone checked his suit then looked at Louise. I helped pick her up, "What's your problem mate?" I asked, loudly to draw a slight crowd. "Like knocking little girls down?" Louise looked young and as thin as a twig so the small crowd of 5 or so looked annoyed.

His face flushed, "Are you okay?" he took the phone away from his ear for a brief second.

"It's okay," Louise said, a fake waver in her voice, "I wasn't that hungry anyway," A woman tutted him and another gave him a pointed look. "Honest," Louise was selling it.