Life was weird; there was no two ways about it, no denying it, not avoiding it. Whatever happened in life, no matter how boring it seemed, the weirdness would one day catch up with you and make you suffer, sort of. Things for Modesty had been at the downright bizarre end of weird as of late, however no matter how weird things were, and whether or not the cause of all the weirdness himself was hosting the BBQ, Modesty was always going to have gone. Offices were not exactly a hub of social interaction for a sixteen year old girl, especially not the one who was working with her dad-who-was-in-public-absolutely-not-her-dad. Modesty could of course understand why in public Josh Cloud was not her dad, to be honest she didnt really mind having coped all her life without any father figures, however it meant that everything was a tad on the secretive side. Modesty firmly believed honesty was the best policy and now she wasnt getting to be honest. Of course she didnt have to lie to anyone, no one was about to come up to her and ask her if Josh was her dad, though she still felt weird about the whole thing.

Really it would forever be known as the summer of weird.

Following Joshs cryptic directions Modesty finally made her way to Lowell Flats, the latter part of her journey forgetting the directions entirely and just following her nose to the scent of cooking sausages. It was one of those summer days which summer in Britain was never supposed to be like and Modesty, not really stopping to think about what any supposed father would think, had dressed accordingly. Basically she had worn as little as possible. A red halter-neck top, stopping short of her midriff, and denim hot-pants to be precise with a pair of cork wedge sandals. Poor Josh would probably have a fit, though sadly Modesty didnt even begin to realise this until she was only a street away from Lowell. Not that the likelihood of anyone having a fit would have made her not wear it, any more clothes and she would probably have died of the heat before she even reached the tube station nearest Diagon Alley, never mind having gotten onto that slow cooking oven better known as the tube itself.

Reaching the courtyard Modesty was however surprised to find it rather empty. Did that mean she was for once early? That was a rarity; however the smell of soon to be ready food and the unmistakeable glint of beer cans in the harsh sunlight beckoned her into the courtyard proper.

A quick scan of the area showed Modesty that there were few people under twenty and even fewer who actually looked interesting. However one person did catch her eye. Growing up on one of the roughest council estates in Glasgow Modesty had known her fair share of junkies, had probably ended up trying something or other whilst drunk, though as the quality of stuff round her way was worse than crap the effects would have been minimal. She could also spot a sober junky when she saw one. The blurry eyes, bloodshot and sore looking coupled with the all together slightly too skinny frame were enough to mark the man out as a damn site more interesting than most of the people around, especially as he had an untouched can of beer sitting upon the table whilst he himself drank from another can, alternating alcohol with nicotine as he took a drag on his cigarette every now and then.

Hiya.

Modesty wasnt the sort of girl to actually wait for an invitation to sit down, and seeing as the man smelt like a brewery she had no qualms about stealing his beer either. Modesty was too young to recognise him as Joseph Morrison, the guy who had sung songs and been teased for his rather pretentious middle name, however that didnt matter. She didnt need to know him to know he was one of the few people she could probably stand to have a conversation with, if he was up to such a feat, seeing as he at least appeared half sane. He wasnt talking to his cat, which was certainly one point in his favour.

What is this? Were we all meant to bring a pet to show off today?

Perhaps Modesty was just a tad bitter about the fact trying to talk to her cat would result in said cat trying to scratch her eyes out, however she had never been one for going all goo-gaa over an animal. Laughing slightly she pulled the tab on his can, wondering if he had actually realised it was no longer in his possession, and took a long swig from it. Presence of biological father be damned, he was too busy boasting about his bedroom skills anyway to probably even notice she had arrived, or that she was wearing virtually nothing, or that she was sitting with a junky and drinking his beer.

Shame, no one told me, I coulda brought my cat, she scoffed, a smile on her lips at the thought of what Tybalt would do if she even tried to pet him for more than two seconds, I wouldnae have subjected these people to him though, opened their eyes tae what real cats are like, none o this baby doll shite.

She grinned, taking another swig from his beer, liking her lips and she placed it on the table but never letting go of the can.

Modesty Duncan.

A raised eyebrow as if to say and you are was all that followed these words as Modesty hoped her voice hadnt travelled to the host of the whole thing. Glaswegian accent in central London was a bit of a give away if ever there was one.