(1937-09-14) Not A Date
Details for Not A Date
Summary: Niamh comes by The Dog & Bone to see Gideon play.
Date: September 14, 1937
Location: Dog and Bone, London
Related: License, Then Lunch

The Dog & Bone, a classic public house that has sat nestled in among the shops and residences of the Borough for countless years. Stepping inside is a bit like a portal to the past, as one is immediately surrounded by stone and mortar walls, thick wooden beams and rafters, and the hazy scent of pipe smoke and cinders from the large, wood-burning fireplace that warms the building. A handful of tables leave little room for walking in the cramped space, though most of the patrons tend to crowd around the wrap-around bar on the wall opposite the hearth. The only open space is a collection of mismatched chairs and sofas, close enough to be warmed by the fire, and turned to face one corner of the room, where a tiny stage rises six inches above the floor.

The stage in question is presently occupied by a ginger, scruffy-bearded man sitting on a stool. His shirt-sleeves are rolled up, his tie loose, and his finger strum a worn-looking guitar as his resonant voice regales the patrons with an old Scottish folk song.

Nia's late to the party, sadly.. but she's here! The door opens, allowing the 'dressed up in being dressed down' woman entrance. There are a couple of heads that turn, and some whispers, but those doing those whisperings are elbowed and gestures are made towards the stage in silent 'Sherrup and listen'. Closing the door behind her as quietly as she can, she stands at the side, her purse set before her, and hazel eyes move towards the stage. Her eyes widen briefly, and the smile creeps up on her face as she listens, leaning now. It's a couple heartbeats that pass, and she's in danger of falling under the spell of the sounds of his home, so she does move.. but she finds there's no room at the bar. That forces her move, of course, and she offers a soft 'pardon' as she moves to find a cushion on a couch and settles in quickly, purse on her lap..

Gideon's eyes are heavily lidded as he plays and sings. He isn't here right now. His mind is wandering the braes of his childhood summers, feeling the call home to that northern land. At last, the song reaches its final notes. "//For these are my mountains…" he croons, "And I'm goin'…hooooome…" With a few final strums of the strings, the song fades out to the sound of soft, appreciative clapping. No great fanfare in a place like the Dog and Bone, where the patrons like it peaceful. Gideon opens his eyes, offering nods of thanks to those that cared to sit and listen. He suddenly freezes, momentarily transfixed by a face never before seen between these stone walls. A warm curl forms at the corners of his lips, and a few of the other patrons take notice, pointing to their mates and murmuring quietly: "Aaaaye…Gid's got 'imself a bird, eh?"

Gideon's music makes Nia sway a bit, and the accented words remind her of Ireland, the land she'd left, her ma and da had departed.. and for those moments, there's the feeling of being.. dispossesed. Away from home. At the end, however, her soft applause does join the rest; not too loud and obnoxious, truly, and her smile brightens her face, echoing in her eyes as she watches him. She catches his glance, and suddenly, she's a little.. self conscious, and she bites at her bottom lip before she beams in his direction, having caught his attention. The smile that creeps upon his face dispells any feeling of self-consciousness.. until, of course, the whispers.. Still.. she doesn't want to pay anything any mind. Nothing but the Inspector, that is..

Gideon slides off of the stool, setting his guitar against the walla nd nodding to the rest of those gathered. "I'll be takin' a wee break, laddies. Now git. Back to your drinks." Amidst good-natured grumbling, the crowd disperses (mostly crowding in at the bar in spite of the lack of room), and Gideon steps down from the stage, thumbs in his pockets, and stands before Niamh. "You came." Keen eye for the obvious. Must be why he's an Inspector.

Watching the approach of Gideon, Nia's smile brightens and as he comes to a halt and gives the obvious observation, the smile grows into a grin at his words as she looks up at him from her seat. "I did. I'd heard there was some good entertainment to be seen on amateur night," she begins, her tones holding a light tease. Her neck cranes as if she tries to look past him, her playful teasing easily caught in her tones, "When do they go on?" To take any possible bite from her words, she reaches out to take a light hold of his hand to gently tug him down. "It was lovely."

Gideon is so much more relaxed here than he is…well, anywhere. So she meets no resistance when she tugs at him, and he plops down on the seat beside her. "No, really. Johnny Glasscock will be here in a half hour or so, if you want to see real music." There is a hint of teasing in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, his barely-there smile thanks her for the compliment.

Oh there are certainly murmurs about this, Gid sitting with a bit? A couple of the regulars have possession of their ales and a glass is waved in the ginger's direction, accompanied with a 'well done' smirk.

Nia isn't blissfully unaware that Gideon is getting the 'high sign' from the others, but in a way, it's a bit flattering? "Oh?" And that impish expression takes over, complete with a touch of a nose scrunch, "Does he sing about Scotland? Because if he doesn't.. I'm afraid I will be disappointed." After all, while he'd been born, raised and educated there, she did spend her formative years there!

Gideon chuckles, shaking his head. "He sings about many things. But I've nae heard a Scottish tune from him yet. Fond of Scottish music then, are you?" He arches an eyebrow, giving her a read. She could just be saying it because he is Scottish and plays the music of his homeland.

"Well, your songs are full of wanting to go home. Irishmen are too busy getting drunk, and singing about getting drunk." Or Revolution. Not entirely true, and she knows it quite well! "All the songs about wanting to go home comes after they're drunk." Nia's not terribly put out about it, of course. "As for my fondness?" She gives him a smile that relightens her face, "I might even like an Irish drunkard song if you sang it." There. "I liked Scotland when I was there." Nyah. "And now that I'm a bit older," and she looks at him in good natured warning, "I could even make the trip.. without having to worry about terms beginning."

"You've spent some time in Scotland, have you?" Gideon turns toward her, draping on arm over the back of the sofa. "Then you need to listen to more Scottish music. We've plenty of drinking songs as well. But you only hear those full of good cheer in this place. Some of the others can get…a bit lewd."

Hogwart's is in Scotland, so it was a bit of necessity that she spend time there! Nia shifts a touch to make sure she's beneath that arm that is draped behind her. Of course, it makes it a little more difficult to hold a face to face conversation, but she doesn't mind in the least. "I think I do," she agrees easily and readily. "As for.. the less savoury ones," there comes a pause before she whispers as if it's a secret, "I am Irish. There isn't much I haven't heard. Even from my sainted ma and da."

The slide of Gideon's arm doesn't go unnoticed, and at the bar, there's money being exchanged.. all in good fun.. and a couple glances back. Nia does catch it, and she's obviouer sly amused. Her tones remain low, "Why do I get the feeling you don't have many women coming to hear you sing?" before she nods in gesture towards the bar.

Gideon looks back at the bar, and suddenly every man there is turning to face away, the money shoved into pockets and out of sight. "How many other women do you count in here?" Not one. "You're a rare treat to these laddies." As he turns back to face her, out come the quid and the amused looks from the bar. He clears her throat, shifting in his seat. "You…ah…you look very nice tonight."

Niamh really hasn't had a good look-about in the place, and she takes a moment to actually look around. There aren't any women? She doesn't see one.. at all. There's that moment of .. self-consciousness once again, and she turns back to Gideon, her brows rising. Her voice is still soft, but now, there's a hint of earnestness, "Is it alright I'm here?" It could be a proper gentleman's club.. without the connotations, but she didn't see a 'No women' sign out front! Guess it's just assumed?

His compliment, however, sets her heart beating again, and the smile relights. "Thank you." Beat. "It.. isn't too much, is it?" She looks into his eyes, and quirks her head, "This place suits you."

Gideon simply nods in reassurance at her concerns about being here. It seems women are allowed…or that they're allowed if Gideon says they're allowed. Similarly, he shakes his head with a dismissive frown that her look is too much. "It's lovely. And, aye…it does suit me. It reminds me of Glasgow. Well…the outskirts of Glasgow. Most of the pubs in the city are a bit rougher."

"I haven't been." Now, Nia takes a bit of courage, and she shifts her position again such that she is definitely leaning against him, just under the crook of his arm. "You'll have to tell me about it one day." She rolls her head up, and her brows rise. "Have you been to Ireland? Not the pubs, that is.. and though there are some rough spots, most are good." As long as one avoids the English. "It's very.. green."

Gideon is suddenly very conscious of the position of his arm, and quickly suppresses the natural urge to wrap it around her. No…it's too soon. Too soon. He swallows and nods. "I've been, but only on Ministry business. Does nae leave much time for taking in the countryside." He looks back to the bar again (and everyone else turns around). "Do you want a drink, Miss O'Shea?"

Nia can feel the subtle tensing of his muscles, and her head drifts down, her gaze flickering around the room. "No," and she shakes her head, "I imagine it doesn't. Travelling is sort of in my job description. There are things that'll only grow in certain areas, and I've got to go and harvest it in place." She smiles, her lips forming that thin line; she's not upset, but it's more.. conversational, and she sets her tone in a theatrically rueful tone. "As much as I'd like to be able to grow dittany in London, it's simply not possible."

At the question, Nia sits a little straighter, and in the action, she moves away a little to give him a little breathing room. She doesn't expand that distance, however, in that she gently offers, "Niamh.. please. And I'd love one. Your choice."

Gideon laughs; a single barking chortle. "Remember you said that," he says in a teasing tone. "Niamh," he adds softly. The he rises and moves over to the bar. Suddenly space is made for him there, and everyone pretends that he and Niamh aren't the subject of every conversation. There are a few unheard exchanges with him, and soon he is returning with two pint-sized mugs. It seems that every drink in here is served in a pint. "I hope beer isn't too vulgar. But that's a fine brew, believe me," he says as he offers it to her. He sits again, his arms once more going to the back of the couch, but crooked now to hold his drink near his face.

Nia follows him with her eyes, and straightens her skirt with her hands. It gives her a chance to regroup; the more time she spends with the Hit Wizard, the more she likes him. A brief cuddle would be grand, but it doesn't appear that'll be happening this evening. Not at the pub, anyway.. and if it's not happening here, where he's comfortable, the chance of a clench? Almost nil. Fine. She can handle it. She can respect a man who makes certain of his steps.

Upon his arrival, her smile gives her visage a lightness once again as she reaches up with both hands so it won't spill. Of course beer is served in pint! There'd be hue and cry if it weren't. "Not too. Gold rule my da's told me is always try the house brew first. There are some talented brewers, and every one has it's own tale to tell." She is, after all, a student of mixology. Just not usually with the result being an ale. Cradling it in both hands, she looks up into his eyes, and raises her glass, "Sláinte," before she takes the first swallow.

Gideon lifts his own pint in toast, echoing her sentiment with "Fáilte!" Then he tilts it back and takes a heavy quaff. No modest drinker, he! He nods appreciatively at the golden ale. "Your da is right. I cannae say I ken the story behind this one, but the taste is telling enough." He smiles, for a moment, no sign of the gruff, stony Hit Wizard. Just a man, barely distinguishable from the Muggles around him, enjoying a beer.

"One day, perhaps the brewer'll tell ye the story. I'm sure there are more than one under these rafters." Nia's eyes gleam, and she lifts her pint in the Scot's toast, taking the swallow again. She's used to ale, and it doesn't go down with any difficulty.

The rest of the evening is spent with a pint in hand, and as people come and take the stage, one after another, Nia's more than happy sitting beside Gideon, an easy, companionable presence. Time is difficult to measure in good company, and as the night wears on, the morning hours do come, the 'date that isn't a date' ending with last call. Or is it a beginning?

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