(1937-11-21) A Night at the Cauldron
Details for A Night at the Cauldron
Summary: A bunch of stuff happens. Then some more stuff. Then Cyril makes Jack's day.
Date: 21 November 1937
Location: Leaky Cauldron

Phil nods faintly. "I think there is some vague recollection. Or perhaps it is the surname." Her gaze flits towards the door as it hits the wall and of course then lands upon the Malfoy albeit briefly before turning back to those at her table. "Your people are Hogsmeade people are they not? My brother St John," which she pronounces in the odd English way (Sinjin), "and his family have settled there not too recently. I prefer city life myself. Far more to do."

It may be rainy and cold in the evening without, but within the Leaky Cauldron, it is warm and dry, mostly thanks to Elly. A table near the fire is host to three former Ravenclaws, Annie, Phil and Zack. Annie laughs softly at Zack's words, "I will remember that next time, Zack, ta." Her eyes shift to the door, and her smile brightens. Not at the Malfoy, but at her own Tim. Rising, she moves to help him with some of his packages, giving him a quick kiss to the cheek. "Looks like yeh had a nice time, love."

Following the faint grinding sound marking a back-alley arrival of someone from Diagon Alley, the door opens and in walks Reece Jones. His dark hair and wool-lined coat are glistening with raindrops. But a quick wand flick and a murmured, "Ventus," blasts his face with air, drying him well enough without mussing his tight curls much. Hanging up his coat, he makes his way into the kitchen to wash up, giving everyone he passes a serene smile of greeting.

"Yes," Zack says to Annie, though it takes him a moment to realize that she's already on her way to say hello to someone. "You could have made smoke, or turned them upside-down, or… Oh, she has to go somewhere." So he turns to Phil instead, ubt he doesn't give any sign that he recognizes her brother. "Oh, yes," he tells her. "We're from Hogsmeade. It's nice there. There are too many people in this city, and they're always in the way. Hogsmeade is nice and small. What do you do here?"

Tim looks a touch guilty actually when Annie comes over to help him. "Ah'm sorray. Dinnae mean ta be gone from yee so long." He kisses her cheek but gives her over one of the smaller bags. "Went'n for one thin an'…" He hoists up the rest of the bags. "Tha' clerk is good…" He nods to the only bag he gave over to Annie. "Tha's for yee m'Annie." Sappy and sweet he says 'm'Annie' like anyone would say 'm'love'. "Dinnae mean to interrupt…" He tries to get them herded back to where Annie was seated before. His smile goes shy and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard and starts to chew some on his tongue.

Phil gives Tim a once over and spying the camera store bags smirks then looks at Zack as he is speaking to her. "I'm a reporter for the Prophet," she tells him as she tops up the tea in her cup with some fresh from the pot in front of her. A little more lemon is also added. "Mainly society pieces or court proceedings at the moment, but one day I'll get something with a bit more flesh on it." The way she says the last bit makes her sound almost determined to get a decent story. Phil turns a smile on Zack as she looks up from her tea things. "And you? What is it that you do?"

Bam, enter the Malfoy. Cyril steps in through the door, hands slipped into his pockets and looking cool as ever. He makes his way up to the bar and drums his fingers along the surface of it, his golden eyes looking around the room.

Following the faint grinding sound marking a back-alley arrival of someone from Diagon Alley, the door opens and in walks Reece Jones. His dark hair and wool-lined coat are glistening with raindrops. But a quick wand flick and a murmured, "Ventus," blasts his face with air, drying him well enough without mussing his tight curls much. Hanging up his coat, he makes his way into the kitchen to wash up, giving everyone he passes a serene smile of greeting.

Cyril is waiting patiently (sort of) for Reece to reappear at the bar and take his order. The ridiculously pretty man slides one hand into his pocket and turns those golden eyes back to the crowd, 'hrmm'ing softly.

Elly is so right there to help Cyril with anything. Bright and cheery smile. So pretty of a man!

Reece doesn't take long to appear, and quickly takes note of Cyril's anticipation. "What can I get for you?" he asks in his typical mellow tones. In that unconscious reflex all barmen seem to possess, he produces a rag and starts wiping down the counter.

Cyril looks back to Elly and Reece as they both seem to appear at the same time. It's his typical Malfoy mindset that says, 'Ya damn right your both here for me'. His mouth says something entirely different, however. Far fewer syllables, "Whiskey, neat."

Reece gives Elly a gentle smile that says, "I'm here, I've got this." He nods to Cyril and sets a short glass in front of him, filling it by hand from one of the better classes of whiskey. "Can I interest you in a drop of Liquid Mellow? I promise your whiskey has never been smoother." He wiggles a tiny vial filled with a yellow potion between two fingers.

Elly floats away with a warm smile and a wink to Reece and she goes to go jiggle over a table that needs a wipe down.

Cyril rubs at his chin and eyes the vial in Reece's hand, "Hrmmm…I suppose it couldn't hurt." He chuckles and says, "As long as it doesn't encourage me to drink more than I should, of course."

Reece chuckles, tapping a single drop of the potion into Cyril's drink. For a moment, the whiskey glows a soft yellow, then fades to its usual amber. "Only if you find you enjoy it," he reassures the man.

Cyril smiles and nods, raising his glass in a salute to the man before knocking back a gulp of it. He clears his throat and says, "You must be fairly new around here, huh? I don't remember you from the last time I was here." He sips slowly on the whiskey, waiting for a reply.

Reece shrugs, putting away the potion vial. "I've been here for about five months. So, I suppose I'm new to you, at the very least. In light of that, welcome back." He smiles, nodding to another customer and quickly filling a mug of ale.

Cyril nods to Reece and says, "Thank you. I've been gone for quite some time to tell the truth. Almost two years." He takes another sip and says, "You realizing your life-long dream of working as a barkeep, or are you working toward some greater goal?"

Reece chuckles with moderate amusement, leaning up against the bartop. "What goal is greater than contentment? This is where I belong. What of yourself? What does a man like you aspire to?"

Cyril shrugs at Reece and says, "I thought everybody in the world aspires to be fantastically wealthy with a woman like Elly on his arm." He looks at Reece and says, "I've reached half of those goals," with a smirk.

Reece's eyes shift toward Elly, an undeniable warmth glowing from him. "I believe that a man with a woman like her on his arm would find all of King Solomon's riches to be mere trinkets and distractions."

Cyril nods to Reece and offers him a smirk before he takes a sip from his whiskey. He moves to have a seat on one of the stools and says, "Aye, indeed. I suppose that would explain why I am still very much interested in my treasures."

Reece chuckles lightly. "A man of means. But you strike me as a man of action, as well. What is it that you occupt your time with? If I'm not prying, of course."

Cyril shakes his head and says, "Oh, I don't do much, really. A Malfoy is want for not, of course." He drums his fingers along the bar and continues, "I do spend a good deal of my time in the Middle East. I'm absolutely fascinated by their culture."

Reece's eyebrow lift curiously. "Ah, the Middle East? Interesting. I had some occasion to spend time in the region, myself. A truly remarkable blend of peoples and philosophies."

Cyril nods to Reece and says, "Absolutely fascinating, aren't they? It's a shame they can't put aside their differences." He quirks his lips and sucks his teeth a bit, "Absolute shame indeed."

Reece sighs, nodding sadly. "It's a travesty. But likely unavoidable. Religion is a stronger shield than any steel, and with so many centuries of mistrust, hope to gently push aside that shield for the sake of brotherhood is very, very slim."

Cyril nods to the man and says, "So very true. So, what was your business in the Middle East? Where'd you go?" He swirls his glass a bit before taking another long sip of it and setting it down empty. Cueing Reece to pour another.

Reece takes the cue, filling the glass and again offering a drop of potion. "Turkey, mostly, by way of Egypt. I didn't stay long in either country. I was on a world tour, studying the potions of various cultures. I daresay, the Egyptians are some of the most secretive about theirs, and with good cause. They possess the secrets to some truly powerful magic."

Cyril nods and says, "Egypt is by far my favorite. I'm a bit of a treasure hunter myself, though I do hate to call myself by souch a title. It brings forth notions of grave-robbing and the like."

It's a whistle that precedes Jack into the Cauldron, his coat wrapped about him, the scarf wrapped tightly. He comes in from the Charing Cross entrance, letting the chill in with him, or would if it weren't charmed to keep such things away. The moment he steps in, he looks about before he begins to make his way towards the back of the bar, his head nodding, smelling of cigarettes and.. well.. drink. He's not swaying, which is a good sign. On the schedule, the reason for his absence.. need of the lorry for deliveries.

Reece gives Jack a nod when he comes behind the bar. "Jack," he says in greeting. He arches his brow at Cyril, "Treasure hunting? In Egypt, no less. Forgive my curiosity. If it is not delving into burial sites, what sort of treasure hunting do you do?"

Cyril chuckles and says, "It is burial sites. I just don't like the word 'grave-robber'." He looks over his shoulder as Jack enters the room and gives him a small nod before picking up the fresh glass and taking a sip.

Reece nods, offering no approval or condemnation for Cyril's activities. "Jack, could you watch the bar for a few? I need to check on the barrels in the cellar."

"Whu'?" The cockney rings clear in the single syllable. "'Aight.. will do. Dere's anovver cask fer t'morrow what needs t'be rolled out." But even as he speaks, Jack's hanging up his coat and scarf, and rolling up his sleeves to take over the bar. "All's good." And he looks towards Cyril.. and his head cants. Late to the conversation. "Treasure 'untin'?"

Cyril turns his head to take in the Cockney ruffian. He gives a nod and offers his hand to the man, "Treasure hunting, indeed. Cyril Malfoy at your service, my boy." The pure-blood's accent is the complete antithesis of Jack's.

Jack's brows rise when he hears the name.. and his jaw drops a little. He regains his composure, and he take a deep breath and nods, raising a hand to the bit of hair at the hairline, and a quick tug.. "Jack.." Beat. "'Ow is?" before he extends a hand, slowly. "What sort'a 'untin'? Did I 'ear Egypt? Where all dem mummies are? Ain't it said there's some curse onnit?"

Cyril shakes the man's hand with the hand he's already offered and says, "Oh, I'm doing quite well. Thank you for asking." He pulls his hand back and grips his whiskey with it before saying, "Aye, Egypt. I've yet to run across a mummy I couldn't defeat, though. Not a big threat, of course. Just shambling about and all."

Jack, too, retrieves his hand and has to refill a glass. It's just a tilt to determine what it is that the glass held, and a pull at the right tap, and the glass is back where it belongs, with the customer. He's fascinated, however.. and he returns to where Cyril sits. "Really? They do tha' whole.. walk aroun', animated an' such?" He leans on the counter, and runs a bar rag over it to look as if he's working. "Like Boris Karloff in the movin' pictures?"

Cyril smirks and says, "Boris Karloff was Frankenstein's monster, mummies are a different beast altogether. With Mister Karloff, you could just put a round through his head and he'd be flat out gone, not to be heard from again. Mummies are held together with dark magic, you see."

"No sir.. played a mummy in Nine'een thir'y-two. Seen it in the theatre, I did.. Me an'.." Jack shakes his head, and takes a deep breath before he moves over to the other bit. "Well, I know dat.. no' really a person unner there. But.. they really do tha'? Walk 'round, animated-like? Curse could do it fer real?" He's fascinated, and he has to ask, "Ever ge' one? Dead, tha' is.." He pauses, then.. "Well.. dead, dead. No' jus' dead.. one dead.."

Cyril raises his eyebrows, "Oh, really? I must have been away then and missed it altogether. Hrmm, I shall have to see if I can't purchase the reels." He looks back to the man and says, "Aye, they walk around as plain as you or me. There's usually something in the room that will activate the charm, though. Must be careful about walking around. And aye, I've killed one or two."

"Cor.." Jack begins, and he shakes his head. "Museum's go' a few t'ings from there, back from when they'd done the excavations t'find ol' Tut 'imself.. an' they mentioned the curses.. 'adn't really given it much though' 'bout it actually bein' real or no'.." He's still leaning on the bar, and he's still sort of.. minorly wiping the counter. "Any'fing else dat might go 'bump' in da night?"

Cyril smirks and says, "There are ways of making an entire estate invisible to the naked eye. Of course there are ancient curses. Back then magic was left unchecked." He shrugs and looks over to Jack, saying, "None that I've seen."

"S'all best left da way it is, I s'pose. Could be reason it's invis'ble." But, it's good to know, actually, and Jack straightens from his lean on the bar, dark eyes gleamin'. "Oi.. whut if.. peoples could see.. no', y'know, invisible magic an' such.. but.. evah get the idea that ye ain't lookin' at som'fin straight?" He exhales in a breath, a frustrated sigh.. how to get the idea across. "Li'.. look at som'fin sideways an' y'get the glimmer o'som'fin there. Look at it straight on, an' it ain't."

Cyril shrugs partially because he can't understand a damn word the man is saying and partially because he doesn't know the answer. He does say, "I'm not particularly well-versed on magic, my friend, so I don't know what to tell you." He takes a sip of his whiskey and finishes it off, rubbing at his face.

Wouldn't be the first time someone didn't understand him.. and won't be the last, and in that, there's a certain amount of pride. "Ain't ye a Malfoy?" Aren't they well-versed in magic? A hell of a lot more than a squib, to be sure. "Unless yer .." Jack chuckles suddenly and nods at the drink that Cyril has in hand. "What'cha 'avin'? I'll refill it for ye. Or, if'n ye need, get ye a pasty t'get som'fin in your stomach."

Cyril smirks and says, "Oh, I know a thing or two." He slides the glass toward him and says, "Whiskey. Neat." He drums his fingers along the bar's surface and says, "You have any fresh-baked bread?"

Elly comes out of the kitchen with a laugh still bubbling about within her. She cleans her hands on a rag and moves over to give Jack's cheek a kiss. Maybe he's less in the dog house than he might have thought after the tiff the other night. "Aye, Special tonight is Lavendar Honey Glazed Chicken. The Soup Special is Chicken an' Leek. We always 'ave fresh-baked bread. Get ye a basket o' rolls 'ansome?"

Jack takes the glass and nods at the specifics; turning about, "Always some comin' outta the-" and then Elly takes over for it. The kiss on the cheek brings a smile to his face, a lopsided one. "E'en, Ells," before he gets to pouring the whiskey, neat. "Ells," he starts, "man was goin' on 'bout Egypt an' mummies an' treasure 'untin'.. Though.." and now, he's coming back with the whiskey, "Wha' sorta treasure? Gold? Jewels? I 'eard they was big on gold."

Cyril looks up at Elly and says, "Yes, please." Seems he's in a much better humor than he was on he and Elly's initial run-in. He looks up at Jack and smirks, pulling something from his pocket. He places said item on the bar, revealing it to be a heavy golden coin emblazoned with the head of a jackal. "They do love their gold." He picks it up and flips it over to the man, saying, "Keep it. I've got hundreds."

Elly's sky blue eyes go about as wide as the sky when she sees the coin and then when it's flipped towards Jack. That thing could probably buy a whole new lorry! "Coo, tha's so very kind of ye Mistah!" She just has to take a step back to reach in through the service window to put together a basket of still warm freshly baked rolls. Last rolls baked for the night. She brings them back to set them before Cyril but soon she's over by Jack to coo and eye over the ancient trinket.

Jack watches carefully as the heavy gold coin is placed on the bar, and his eyes go wide. His brows rise and his jaw drops a little, and he watches as the man picks it up again. There's that pang that it'll be put away as just a show piece, but when it's flipped to him? He catches it, though a little inexpertly, and looks at it in hand now. "Keep it? Really?" He looks at Elly and back at the.. Malfoy(?) and then the ancient gold coin in hand. If it didn't buy a whole new lorry, it'd certainly buy most of one! And.. quite a few other things, he reckons. "Fanks.. really.. an' y'have 'undreds ovvem?" He looks back at Elly, "Oi.. we're in da wrong job, Ells. Pack up an' movin' t'Egypt?"

Cyril looks between the two of them as he munches on his rolls. He shrugs and says, "I've got plenty of money. No sense in keeping it to myself all the time, I guess." Or maybe he just likes to kill other treasure-hunters, take their loot and throw it around. Some people just like to watch the world burn, indeed.

Elly is rather choked up. That's more money than she's ever seen in her young life. And it's now Jack's! Her gaze turns a bit worried when Jack starts asking about the fact that Cyril has hundreds of them. It's like a loved one watching a recovering alcoholic get 50 year old scotch waved under their nose by someone.

It is a lot of money, and it reminds Jack easily of everything he's not had in so long, and what he did.. once.. and the gold he holds in his hand? He looks to Elly, the smile lopsided on his face. "Ells.. dis.. could be a start of a good fing.. or keepin' anovver goin'. Lorry, easy.. or.." He takes a deep breath, and looks back over towards Cyril, and now his eyes narrow a bit, dubiously. "Really…" Still.. and with the coin, he's.. feeling on top of the world, and he puts it in the pocket of a vest where a pocket watch would go. "I gotta get your da to check the boxes a'fore I bring 'em in, Ells. Back soon." And leaning over, he gives the maid a quick kiss on the cheek and heads towards the kitchen. "Fanks.. really Mr. Malfoy.."

Cyril offers Jack a half-hearted salute as he continues to munch on his bread. Seems he could really care less what the kid does with the money. Those golden eyes of his turn to Elly and he says, "He seemed pretty excited."

Elly smiles, beaming at Jack and leaning in to give him a kiss and then let him get off to what he needs to get done. "Aye, well tha' coin is more than either of us 'as evah seen. Jack's lived 'ard most o' is life. Tha' coin is a light at an end o' a long dark tunnel fo'im." She gives Cyril a very grateful warm smile. "Fank ye sir. Truly, it was the most loverly fing ta do."

Cyril can't seem to wrap his head around people not having money and offers Elly a casual shrug, "Oh. Alright, then." He jerks his head in the direction of his empty whiskey glass and says, "You think I could get some more?"

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