(1937-09-09) Clash of the Tartans
Details for Clash of the Tartans
Summary: Two very grouchy Scotsmen butt heads when Inspector Gideon pays a visit to his favorite restaurant.
Date: September 9, 1937
Location: Farin Braw Restaurant, Diagon Alley
Related: None

Farin Braw Restaurant, Diagon Alley

The Farin Braw Restaurant has every appearance of a pub that someone scooped up from a small Scottish village and plopped down in Diagon Alley. The entry door lets into a large room, crowded with wooden tables that are a bit scarred but are kept clean and well tended. Wooden chairs are surprisingly comfortable, because if you don't keep 'em in the seats, their money leaves with 'em. One wall is dominated by a long oak bar, polished to gleaming, lined with high stools for patrons who would prefer to be closer to the 'action'.

Inspector Gideon has chosen to spend the day patrolling Diagon Alley. He likes to remind the locals that he's here, keeping an eye on them…as well as paying the occasional visit to Knockturn Alley to remind them that he's watching. But the rumblings in his stomach tells him it's time for a break, and where else would any Scottish wizard worth his salt go to eat besides Farin Braw? Stepping into the pub-like restaurant, Gideon doffs his hat and helps himself to a table to await service.

Carmichael is standing…not so quietly near a table yelling at it's occupants, "Get the hell out of hear, you borscht-eating bastards!" He flips the table and glares at them, a faint growl coming out from under that moustache of his. The two Russian wizards get up and scramble out like scared children, running past the inspector and disappearing out the door. The Scot straightens his vest out and runs a hand through his messy hair, shooting a glower over at Gideon, "What do you want, cop?"

Gideon's eyes follow the Russians out the door, but he seems unconcerned. This is the sort of quality service one comes to Farin Braw for. He returns the glower to his fellow grouchy Scotsman. "Fisherman's Pie," he growls. "Best if you're quick about it. I dinnae have all day."

Carmichael leans down and flips the table back over, "Oh, I'm sure there's innocent young ladies out there that are looking for a white knight to come scoop them up and save them." He grumbles and disappears back into the kitchen to get Gid's food ready.

"Aye, usually from you." Gideon retorts as he takes out today's edition of the Prophet, unfolding it to read while he waits. He snorts over an interview with Hogwarts Headmaster Dippet regarding the possibility that the Triwizard Tournament may yet happen. "Ridiculous. It's like painting targets on those children's heads."

Carmichael grumbles a bit as he goes about cooking. Although, absolutely no sound can be heard from the cooking once the dishes actually start getting prepared. He'll only be gone for a while, as magic helps speed the process up.

As the scents waft from the kitchen, a hint of a smile forms on Gideon's lips. Those are the aromas of home, as only a Scotsman can make them. He unconsciously starts to hum the melody of a Scottish folk song as his mind drifts back to one summer in the Highlands.

Carmichael throws the curtain open and appear out of the kitchen with a plate in his hand. He stomps over to where Gideon is sitting and tosses the dish down to the table, "Eat, boy. There's villains to catch."

Gideon folds up the paper, setting it aside. "Mind your tongue, Carmichael, before I decide to turn health inspector." He kicks out the chair opposite him. "Grab a drink and sit down. Bring me a pint while you're at it."

Carmichael smirks at Gideon and says, "I get good reviews, and I pay damn well for them!" Who knows if he's joking? He walks off the to bar and prepares himself a double of whiskey and a pint of beer for the inspector. He sets them both on the table and has a seat, picking his glass up.

Gideon grunts appreciatively, his mouth full of Fisherman's Pie, when Carmichael returns. "Reviews don't pay the bills. I've no idea how you stay in business. Every time I come in here, you're chasing somebody else out."

Carmichael smirks and takes a sip of his drink, whiskey dripping from his moustache. He raises and eyebrow and says, "They always come back, though. Can't keep them away. Except that Elly girl." He grumbles and licks the whiskey from his 'stache.

Gideon's glare turns more serious, and he stops eating for a moment. "Aye. You've been a right sorry git to her. Dinnae do it again." There is weight behind those words, no longer the banter of two grumpy northerners.

Carmichael raises an eyebrow to Gideon and says, "Tell her not to try and teach me how to run a business again, and I'll be civil. I built this establishment with my own hands and I run it by myself…it's not hers to manage." The wolf-like man seems to have lost any bit of good humor he had.

"Aye, well, when your restaurant is empty and collecting cobwebs, you'll wish you'd listened to her," Gideon barks back between bites. "Just see that you do keep civil. She's a good girl. She deserves better than cynical sods like us."

Carmichael slams his fist down on the table, "Oh, so I should spend my time pouring love and affection all over my customers!? Bullshit! I won't have it!" The man's voice has escalated to a loud growling, and he points at Gideon, his moustache raised in a scowl, "Ye know that's the best damn Fisherman's Pie ye've ever had! Would that change if I were shooting rainbows out me ass and givin' ye a tugjob below the table!? I think not!"

Gideon's brow crinkles as he ponders that calmly, then gives a shrug. "It couldn't hurt." He can't help it, as he takes another bite, his mouth curls into a smirk and chuckles start to escape through his closed lips.

Carmichael sits there with twitching eyebrows at the man in a cold, still silence. He slowly stands up and tips the table over, saying, "Get out," as he disappears back through the curtain.

Gideon casually wipes his mouth with a napkin and rises. Moments later, he is following Carmichael into the kitchen. "Carmichael, you sorry pain in the arse. I'm the best damned customer you have, and you know it. You try that 'get out' shite on me, and I won't be back. Now calm your bloody nerves, bring me another pie, and have a damned drink with me."

Carmichael tosses pans around the kitchen, their magical charms sending them right back to where he got them from after they smash into the various surfaces. He turns around and prods Gideon in the chest, "I'm sick and tired of people telling me how to act in my own damned establishment! And then ye come along and do it, too! What are ye? English!?"

Gideon slaps Carmichael's hand away, leaning in until he's nearly nose-to-nose with the man. "No, I'm just the only wizard fool enough to give a damn about you, you bloody dobber!"

Carmichael growls at Gideon and raises an eyebrow at the man before saying, "Go sit your ass down." He'll wave the wizard out of the kitchen and crack his knuckles and neck, getting ready to cook.

"Fine, then!" Gideon shouts, and storms out of the kitchen, finding a new table to await his food.

Carmichael is only in the kitchen for a few minutes, having already readied the ingredients from when he made it a few minutes ago. His grace around the kitchen could be likened to that of a ballerina. He easily navigates the kitchen, holding up hands to summon the various cooking implements to them. He reappears from the curtain and tosses the plate back down on Gid's table, giving him a nod and sliding back into the kitchen.

Gideon returns the silent nod, and gets down to eating. Ahhh, nothing quite so pleasant as a good, hearty meal at Farin Braw.

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