| Details for LoweBorn? |
| Summary: | Frid decides to serve two young women at the Three Broomsticks. One wants whiskey, and the other is determined to find out why he looks so Lowe-nesome. (We're even punning in Summary, now). |
| Date: | 1938-12-01 |
| Location: | The Three Broomsticks - Hogsmeade |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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The Three Broomsticks
Despite the obvious patina of age, The Three Broomsticks has a warm, inviting ambiance. This character the pub has attained is, no doubt, thanks to the years it has been steeped in the environment of this particular village. Just one evidence of the village's influence on the pub can be seen in the dark paneling inside the building. The wood was once the outer walls of the home that housed Hogsmeade's founding family. Put to good use once again after the founding family bequeathed it to the pub, the paneling has served the pub just as well as it once served Hogsmeade's founders. The Three Broomsticks has flourished under its current proprietor and is always open and ready for a customer or visitor.
The dark wood surface of the floor glows with a polished sheen from much cleaning, and exposed ceiling rafters, which appear to be original, cross the ceiling in tidy squares. Wood tables of varying sizes litter the room, and matching chairs are scattered among them. Several secluded booths fill up the space along one wall. A flavorfully aged mahogany bar takes up most of the space near the back wall with a series of mirrors and shelves of varying heights hanging behind it. Those shelves behind the bar are lined with memorabilia depicting the life and people of the village as well as items which are special mementos to the pub's owner.
"Hardly my place to refuse you, miss," Frid points out amiably. "If you can prove you're over age, I'll serve you whatever you fancy." The pint glass is set down once more and he turns away, pausing to look back at her. "Coffee, or something else, then?"
Esther makes her way into the Three Broomsticks, and orders another coffee. Anything to keep the Hogsmeade buzz going. Myrus has gone back to Hogwarts - To Sew, of all things. She slides onto a barstool, wearing tight black pants anda simple, smokey grey woolen jersey - Cloak can stay at the damn door. Her wild hair has attracted a bit of a snowdrift, which is melting away bit by bit.
New best friend! "In that case, I fancy a bit of whiskey with my coffee," and then the rummaging ensued, first the back pocket, then the side pocket, and eventually into her jacket, when all else proved fruitless. And there was the liscense to apparate. Left for him to look at, as she glanced in Esther's direction. A little smile offered to her fellow Slytherin.
"Bell's do you?" Frid queries as he sets the coffee to brew. After all, it'd be a shame to waste good whisky in a coffee where you can't taste it. He glances back at the licence, giving a slight nod. "It'll keep you warm tonight, hm? It's icy out there. That'll teach us to move to Scotland, though."
Genevieve gets a smile in return, before she watches the coffee pot instead. Clearly Esther's in a good mood today. But why wouldn't she be? She's had a great day so far, the only thing that could make it better is— "Fath— Oh, no." Frid catches her eye, and the word nearly escapes before she can catch it. "I… You look incredibly familiar." She tilts her head a little to the side, trying to put her finger on it. Those rugged good looks. That familiarity. "You're a Lowe; have to be. Mother or Father?" A smile. Triumphant. The advantage of purebloods and inbreeding, it makes family easy to find.
"Hah. Fine. But the coffee's still required to thaw out my fingers. And speaking of fingers, two fingers full ought to do it for the glass." And she'll likely do the same thing to the promise of a future, knocking it back just a little at a time. Though when Esther goes on on pinning looks, the name rattles around in her memory, begging for a face that at the moment and with the promise of a drink, escapes her.
"I'm afraid not, miss," Frid responds after a moment's hesitation. "I think you might be getting me confused with somebody else." He arranges cups, saucers, and sets out milk and sugar in case it's needed. "I'm just a Lee, miss. Nothing so grand as all that." He takes the coffee as it brews, carefully and expertly pouring two, then withdraws a short glass to empty a slug of the whisky into, cups, saucers, glass et al slid over the bar to the pair of them.
"A bastard child?" The words are out of her mouth before she can even halt them. "I mean… A natural child? Forgive me… I'm just…" She blushes deeply. Bastard? What kind of person was she. She takes the cup of tea, and tries to sort herself out with a polite cough. "You're the spitting image of a painting of my grandfather. It's just hard to believe that someone from our world could look so alike." A puase. "I didn't mean to use the term bastard. That was unkind." … Just in case. Y'know.
Jenny collects everything at once, the liscence going back into her pocket, the whiskey hauled in close. The mug of pure fresh black coffee. It's the latter she cradles in her left hand, letting the warmth ease into her fingers and all but shivering from the spill of it. It's the whiskey that she sips with her right; in the process of taking a drink that's all but snorted for Miss Tactful there. "Blazes! And they say I've a way with words. I'm beginning to understand what they mean," issued in Esther's direction with a crooked grin, before more glibly she adds. "At least the color looks good on you." Wink. But the family issues? Those she's not sorting, the name having settled in her memory while that rich flavor burned at her throat and spread warmth through her stomach. "Ravenclaw fella, you're related to him too then? Mind, I'm not going to judge. I'd a father in Hufflepuff and half my cousins are in Gryffindor."
"I believe my parents were married, thank you for asking," Frid notes drily as he pulls the cloth back down from his shoulder to continue drying glasses. "Muggles. I'm not a wizard, I just work for one."
Esther is still agasp, as she manages to drop herself in it that soundly. She blushes a little bit at it, and then turns to Genevieve, stumbling a little as she recovers. "… Myrus, yes. He's something of a black sheep in our little flock, but I love him anyway." She tries to cover it all by seeming awfully casual. But her eyes continue to drift back to Frid. Over and over again. She'll check the family history. He's got to be over thirty, but well under fifty. She can't believe that they'd let a muggle work here. "You know, I've never met a muggle who knew about our world before." She tries to smooth over with conversation. Like that'll work.
"This is one of those moments that I can't help but be proud to see," Jenny murmured, looking a little shameless and not the least bothered by any of it. "He's adorable," of Myrus she spoke. "Was in here the other night with the lot of us. Quiet though. Sort of..like your quiet. That a family trait?" But she fell quiet with Esther went onto a different vein of questioning, sipping at her drink and listening.
"I'm very fortunate to be privy to this world, miss," Frid allows, a little less tense now the line of questioning has moved on. "Mrs. Fairfax hired me to begin with when she was living among muggles, and I'm glad I wasn't forced to give up that employment when she took on this place. Although I understand there's some issue with a few of the changes she's brought about, among the wizards here."
"Can be." Esther answers, suddenly careful. Calling someone a bastard will do that to you though. "He used to be louder, but… It had a habit of getting him into trouble. Now that he's more placid… For the most part, I think he's happier." She finds Jenny… Strangely comfortable company. Frid's response has her… Curious. Especially when he relaxes. "… Hmn." A sneaky little smile spreads across her face. It's not subtle. It's the expression of someone who has worked something out - Whether it's a plan, or a fact. She covers it poorly, with a quiet, "Wonderful coffee though. I wouldn't be upset about that."
"Reeeally?" Were they talking about the same boy? "What happened to make him so, placid?" Not that it's her business but..Jenny had a habit of talking to anyone who'd talk back, including the occasional fence post and her sense of boundries regarding conversational topics were..askew. "But the coffee is good!" She agrees, before flashing a smile at Frid, "And so is the whiskey. Right fine hand to have around you are," she compliments the man, "Regardless of whatcho is or whatcho aint. We all bloody bleed the same anyway."
"The coffee is good," Frid agrees with a smile, setting another glass away before taking the next one to dry. "But the whisky's better. It's shocking how few wizards appreciate a good malt, and insist on drowning themselves in firewhiskey or worse."
"Re-evaluated his priorities. Saw how things are gonna affect his family." Esther makes herself smile at both of them. "That's the truth of it. But in our case, Lowes'll bleed as one, so Myrus has to play for our team." Lowes. She stares at Frid for a few long seconds. Lowes. The man's resemblance is indisputable. She's /aware/ of that. The talk of whiskey glazes her eyes a little though, shaking her head before she admits. "I've never touched a drop." She states, rather blankly. "Although from the expressions, most whiskeys should taste like poison, with a pleasant finish."
"Makes sense," Jenny agrees, giving a little nod. "Folks leave an impression. I'm blessed in that regard." Her parents were, understanding? Ecletic? But it did leave her wondering which side of the fence Esther was on with the current nonsense swirling through the school. It also gave her ideas. But, let all conversation be inclusive, so she gave a nod to Frid's remark. "S'true. I've one of me mums buddies to thank for me preference, an their parties to thank for me drinking." She winked. Before her smile turned sly as she looked at Esther and then, collected herself and her load and eased down the seperating stools until she was settled beside the other girl. "You want to try it?"
"A good whisky is a thing of beauty," Frid explains, resting an arm on the bar. "There should be a hint of peat, enough warmth to keep you going, and it should be smooth going down. The older the better, at least sixteen years old, and let it warm through to room temperature before you even consider drinking it. And sip it. Enjoy it. Savour it. A scotch whisky is distilled twice, but if you like them smoother with less distinct flavour, the irish whiskey is distilled three times and slips down scarily easily. Can I get you one?"
Esther shakes her head slowly; "I think… At least for this time, I'll be fine." She bites her lower lip as sbe declines both offers. Alcohol /does/ sound like fun, but she's got too many secrets in her head right now to risk letting them get all drunk and silly. Plus, she's also got a touch of misery she doesn't want to let out. Y'know, any more than it already has. "Perhaps next 'weekend', Mister Lee?" A pause. "The man with no first name?" She has managed to absorb a lot of whiskey information though. It'll help her make her choice much easier."
"Well," Jenny chuckled in the wake of Ehster's little announcment, before flashing a grin at Frid. "I guess that gets you a date for next weekend, but me? I share a room with the girl and it's you she wants to have a drink with?" Was that what Esther had meant? Probably not, but Jenny had a way of teasing that just sort of, twisted things around. "She's not going to let it go, you realize," warned Frid, with a cheeky smile.
"I'll never turn down a glass of whisky, as long as I'm not working," Frid admits easily, flicking a faint smile. "And it's Frid, miss. My first name, that is. Although I'm the wrong side of forty, so I'm not so sure it would be a date so much as a service to the aged."
Esther smiles to Jenny next, "I'll make you a deal. If you can provide a safe place, a safe time, maybe, just maybe I'll have a drink with you." Of course, it's no secret that Esther's up late, in the common room, every night - Actually sleeping the afternoon and early evening away, so she can have an abundance of alone time. She smirks a little bit, and looks to Frid. "She's right, I won't deny it. I don't care if I go back a dozen generations to some bizarre, Muggle off-shoot. If I have to send owls to dozens of relatives. You, Mr. Muggle," Playfully said, "Have touch of Lowe about you, and I will root it out."
"Oh that's easy," Jenny replied, grinning at Esther. "Though, I doubt that you'd think B—," that they were in the pub, made her remember. Or perhaps it was just the mention was so recent, but she shut up. Shut up and promptly gnawed on her bottom lip until the urge to talk WAY more than she should, passed. "I'll tell you about it later. Or when we're done here. Or…whenever. But soon?" It came with a hopeful look, before she chuckled and tipped up her whiskey again, the kind of sip that lingered, savored. While she worked Frid's statement into more understandable terms. "What he's saying," the grin was sidelong at Frid, but the statement more aimed at Esther, "Is that he's a really, really potent whiskey."
"Alfred Lee, miss, nothing Lowe about me," Frid insists solemnly. "I'd show you my service records if it would help." Jen's comment earns her a faint smile. "So potent, miss, I'd be very wary about serving it to students. The more mature, discerning customer only, I think."
As confused as Jenny's half sentence makes her, she decides to nod and focus her attention back on Frid. Remarking lightly, "Luckily for me I have no intention of drinking him." She doesn't get any potential innuendo. "Frid, Alfred, Lee." Esther repeats the three names she was given. "Is it Frid Lee, or Alfred Lee - Which is your middle name? I would say 'Yes' for your record but I feel that is a disingenuous offer." She smirk is playful, but…
"I did tell you she wasn't going to leave up on it," Jenny reminds, "But I think Frid might short for Alfred there, Lowe. You know, Al-fred." Jenny breaks it down, nice and slow, before she seems to remember, "Oh but that reminds me," do not ask how. She probably couldn't tell you. "Couldja find out if yer bosslady needs any extra hands on these weekends, as it were or maybe the holidays like…Christmas or say, the summer? I'm a deft hand a bottle and there's only a minimal fee for the kind of therapy often required."
"Your friend has the right of it," Frid agrees amiably, then looks Genevieve over thoughtfully. "I'll see what she says, Miss..? And should she require an extra set of hands, you can be contacted at Hogwarts, I assume?"
Esther stands up slowly, having finished her coffee. Jenny's advice to her causes her to actually catch her feet, and stumble a little. Alfred there, Lowe. Alfred Lowe? Could it really be that simple? The name feels right, sounds familiar. She needs to her her hands on the family histories. Pronto. "I… Almost certainly. A nickname. Yes." She manages to cover herself terribly, terribly poorly. "I'll see you all later. You, Later." Jenny. "You another time Alfred. Frid." Yeah. That works well. She makes her way to the exit with some haste.
"Bit of an odd duck, innit she?" Pot meet kettle? "All the Lowe's I've met are. But damned good company, as happens. Nice family, what I've seen." Like her opinion mattered. "'ere, have a drink and a seat, yeah? Yer makin' me tired with all that standin' an it's nice to talk to someone who aint caught up in the hubub of social circles that aint going to mean a wit past the first day of their last year. My treat!" Which, probably answered his question about where to contact her.
"I'm still… technically… working," Frid points out with a slight smile, nonetheless with no orders to take and no new customers coming in, he does move round to the other side of the bar, pulling up a barstool on which to perch. "The young lady seems delightful, miss. I'm sure she and her whole family are lovely people."
"Aint no miss," her nose wrinkles, "Just Jenny, or Genevieve if you're feeling particularly formal and in the mood to chew on a mouthful." Though as he seems to have come without a drink, the chit slides the coffee his way, still as yet untouched in favor of the more potently flavorful liquor.
Frid doesn't touch the coffee, just watches it slowly cooling down. "Miss Jenny..? To whom ought we send an owl if Mrs. Fairfax decides to hire you? Do you have any experience? References?"
"No, no Miss. Just, Jenny. Unless that's a subtle hint for you to become Mister Frid, or Mister Lee, or Mister Alfred Lee, if I'm feelin' fancy," the minx teases, with a crooked grin. "As for experience, bartending team parties for the Appleby Arrows, by way of and I realize how sodding inexperienced this sounds, my mother. But I want to work. An there's more to life than books and brooms."
"I was rather hoping for a surname," Frid insists, flicking a disarming smile. "But you can pull a pint, then? Handled cash? Stocks? And everyone has to start somewhere. Me, I started as a junior footman. Worked my way up. If you've got a good head on your shoulders, the rest is just training. Sell yourself to me, Miss Surnameless. Why should Mrs. Fairfax hire you?"
"Oh that, it's Solomon," Jenny answers easily enough. "But aye, I can pull a pint and handle money. Don't shy on hardwork either. As fer why hirin' me? It gives an ear to the school, for one who mingles amongst the houses and the potiental to catch a glimmering of the thoughts of the noble families as through their children, if they're parents are in politics. It grants 'er someone who knows how deep the pockets of her peers run and generally, what they can afford, with a little more knowledge on how best to push the bottons to drive them to spend it, too. And if nothing else? It gives her a grunt, when the weekends and holidays are the busiest, that she aint got to try an keep busy in the meantime. An o'course," the minx flashes him a full on smile then, bright and full of cheek. "There's my award winning personalisty." Wink!
Frid nods slowly through all this, absently running a fingertip along the bar. "I shall certainly pass your interest on to Mrs. Fairfax, then. Of course, it would be Tessa you'd be helping mostly, evenings and weekends, rather than Mrs. Fairfax herself."
"Don't much matter," Jenny replied with an absent little shrug. She didn't actually expect the woman to hire her anyway. "It's more a matter of somethin' to do, such as able rather than not. An weekends'll be tricky anyway. Sometimes there's practice, sometimes there's just a lot of shite to do but, eh." Shrug.
"Weekends are when the extra hands would be useful," Frid points out, taking a moment to look Genevieve over more closely, then nods to himself. "A Wednesday afternoon doesn't see a lot of trade. A Saturday night, on the other hand…" He shrugs.
"I'm aware. But, I'm also in school. When it's more'n a smattering of time here'n there. Just sayin', it's a consideration an it wouldn't be much upfront of me not to mention that, if I have an existing commitment, an I aint talkin' dates, it's a thing to consider. Extended holidays, summers, weekends aren't really a problem. Just thought it'd be fair to say," the chit shrugs and then finishes off the last of her whiskey, nudging the glass away.
"I shall make her aware, miss," Frid insists, dipping his head. "Excuse me one moment," he adds, as a regular comes up to the bar for refills.
"O'course," Jenny nods, gesturing him towards his duty without appearing the least bit troubled. "So, where'd you live then, before you hired on with the Mistress?"
"London, miss," Frid informs her, even as he's pulling a couple of pints for the regular. "I used to work for one of the families in Kensington, right from after the war up until about five, six years ago."
"Okay, if you won't use Jenny, will you at least use Solomon and drop the miss?" It was just, a struggle, was what it was and it kind of made her feel a little, well, old. Or young. Or, more posh than she felt she was. "Was it much fun that, working for a family? Were they nice to ya? Were you like a, wassa word, muggle version of a paid house elf?"
Frid raises a brow, half smiling. "I was, eventually, the butler, Miss Solomon. I ran a full staff for the household. I suppose it might be likened to the work of a house elf wrangler, if anything. If you were to allow your house elves to run your accounts and so forth. And I don't know about nice. There is always a line between employee and employer, and there ought to be." He accepts the money for the regular's drinks, putting it into the till before moving back round to the right side of the bar. "But it was a fair job with a fair wage. And there are few enough jobs at the moment, unless you want to work in the pits."
"Just Solomon," he was doing that just to annoy her on purpose, wasn't he? "So you got to…manage everything beneath them, huh? Or well, they did their thing and you controlled everything else and then…you ended up here? What are the pits?" She could just be having a blond moment, it /is/ a possibility. "Much better than a house elf, incidently. Sorry if the analogy was off. Weren't no offense meant, of course." And that brillant smile of hers returned, this time with a tinsy little glance to her own empty glass before those eyes cast hopeful in his direction.
Frid notes that glance, that hopeful look, and gently pushes her coffee back towards her. "The pits. The coal mines? Mining for coal underground? The muggles use it for fuel," he explains, "which in turn is used for almost everything. Coal is vital, so there's always work there. Dirty, tough work, though, with foul air and no space to move."
Sticking her tongue out at Frid, Jenny grudgingly accepts the return of the coffee, much cooler now than when it'd first been served and wraps her fingers around the glass. No sugar for her, no milk. It's black and it's bitter and both are things she'll likely never be. "That sounds like a terrible job," her nose has wrinkled at the mere thought. "I mean, I can see how it would be reasonable but…wouldn't the air kill you eventually? Who would want to do that?"
"If you've no other choice to earn a living," Frid explains, shrugging lightly. "You're probably not aware of the economic difficulties of the muggle world in the last ten years."
"Ah….no." To the state of the difficulties of the muggle world, "But I am aware of the war. So I'm not completely behind." Just mostly and there were more interesting things, like Quidditch and the odd borkle her dad had brought home and well, everything. "Just, ah, what's the nice word? Alright, extremely limited."
Frid absently adjusts his tie, nodding. "Ah, well, it's to be expected. I didn't expect you'd even be taught about the war, so there's something. If the muggles knew about this place, and wizards live without a care in the world, there would be riots. Everything wizards take for granted, and muggles have to work for… it wouldn't go well." He clears his throat quietly, shaking his head. "But I shall refrain from talking politics, particularly here where they have no meaning anyway."
"Well, it came up one night. I mean, people break the world it's gonna effect us, whether or not we want to be effected or not. But you're right, it would cause…a lot of trouble. Kind of like the trouble that would come if all the owls rebelled. But at least the muggles have a sense of freedom. The owls are just, brainwashed into training at an early age and then, nothing. Or they're caught wild and spelled into being just…it makes me sad." The girl sighed, kicking her feet lightly at the wall.
Jackson has disconnected.
"I wouldn't be surprised if there's another one," Frid notes, brows drawn. "Unless Germany back down, anyway. There's going to come a point soon where we're going to have to step in. And then there'll be a worse job than the pits again. Hundreds of thousands of worse jobs."
The girl sighs, nose wriggling with a touch of disappointment at just how cold she's let her coffee get. "This is…this is too much politics for me, I mean, on the one hand, no. No I don't want to get started. My views are, well colorful honestly and ever their was a soapbox for them, this is not it. I just don't see the point in letting them muddle about when a few spells to the right folks'll fix it. And that's all I'm going to say about that."
"You can't," Frid states flatly. "You can't use magic on muggles. It'll cause a worse war, not with rifles and gas, but with wands this time. The muggles can't know we exist. At all." He shakes his head firmly, quite fervent in his opinions. "As soon as they find out there's this big divide, it'll be carnage. Revolution."
"I think that's kind of silly," Jenny flatly states, in the simple discussion of opnion sense, seeming not at all upset over the slight difference in view. "I mean, when someone gets silly and the Ministry has to go cover up an exposure, it's okay to use magic on them then, but when they want to explode each other and ruin a world that's shared by all and not just then, then it's hands off? But what do I know, eh?" It ended with a chuckle, as the girl took another long drink of her coffee. "Absolutely nothin' and that's the way I like it."
"Magic to stop them finding out is acceptable," Frid argues, sat with Genevieve at the bar in deep discussion. Politics, apparently. "Magic to stop them finding out is preventing the war between wizards and muggles. If, let's say, a wizard cast a curse on Mr. Hitler, all of a sudden this whole world is visible and unprotected, and it's not just soldiers who'll suffer. It's everyone. Us. Them. Everyone. I don't want war, dear God I don't want war. I fought in the last one. But if the options are let the muggles fight or expose the muggles to every wizard with a wand, and make targets of everyone, there can only be one answer."
"So, while we may, without them knowing, magic them so that they are not aware of us, you are not of the belief that it is fair to magic them, also without them knowing, to a more reasonable sense of mind. In this case, something subtle enough to encourage Mr. Hitler to a slightly less detrimental state of…," Jenny stopped there. Right there. Appearing thoughtful. Unsure, but thoughtful. "Even if it would spare the soldiers, even if no one else knew about it? Because if we can hide ourselves to stay unexposed then, I don't know," the chit shrugged, flashing him a grin that proved for her at least, the fun was in the trade of opinion and there was no heat behind it. Still amicable. "But I might know better if you topped this off with a touch of whiskey and let me buy you a drink."
"I'm working," Frid points out once more, placing his hands flat on the bar. "And you'll be trouble if you go back to your school drunk, so be careful," he warns. "I'm sure there are wizards on both sides, trying to influence muggle matters. But secrecy is paramount. Fighting the hun is one thing. Fighting wizards is another."
Slipping into the pub, his jacket peeled away, Gerald is /blissfully/ unaware of the political poison being muttered between his all too familiar peer and a man faaaarrrr to old for her uncontrolled flirtation.
Dropping is jacket across the back of a chair near the bar, he turns to thump at Jenny's hair before settling into the seat. "You're going to wake up naked in a ditch somewhere. And it's going to be hysterical." That's his prediction for the evening anyway.
The cold was settling in nice and sharp with the onset of late afternoon and early evening. Myrus Lowe, to his knowledge, would be able to find Esther in Hogsmeade. Alas, he had missed her as she was off doing other things. Where, he did not know. But information he gleaned from those he asked was that she was most recently seen (by those he talked to) at the Three Broomsticks. And it was for this reason he had donned his black true leather shoes, black slacks, white dress shirt under a black pinstripe vest, with a grey bunnet with white pinstripe as well. Black peacoat he had patched up quite nicely from a few tears that had been recieved on a mishapful evening in the.. well that's a long story. The stitching looks like a design feature, or at least semi-professionally done.
He walks into the bar right after Gerald, immediately taking off the wool bunnet (flatcap) and rolling it to shove it into his jacket pocket with a leather-gloved hand. He looks around with an energetic face, but after a few moments of looking at who was present, his excitement fades to a simple smile that's been plastered there for the last few days. And up to the bar he walks after taking off his coat and leaving it on the coatrack at the front, and sits down next to Genivieve, watching Gerald ruffle her hair, and as well not catching the political repertoire of the two that were talking about it. "May I have a butterbeer, please sir?" He asks politely, layig the appropriate coin on the bar to pay for it as he sinks onto his seat. "How are you, Jenny?" She told him that name, didn't she? Or did someone else use it and he picked that one up more than her full name? Oh well. Too late now.
Frid slides from his stool, once more the model of professionalism as he moves round behind the bar once more, reaching up for a hanging mug in which to start pouring a butterbeer. "Coming up, young sir."
Jenny was not flirting, dammit! She was debating and wanting something a little extra to drink and that is not at all something she should be punished for. Honestly. And the man was probably handsome if one liked the father types. Fortunately for everyone involved, Jenny has a -wonderful- relationship with her father and as such, is missing the daddy issues required to really put any heart into it. "Yes, but you're a fun debate and how sad does it look, me drinking alone?" She teased, before her nose wrinkled up at Cornfoot's ruffling of her hair. "And I had worked so hard to keep it tidy," she complains, looking up at the boy before flashing him a grin.
"S'okay, yours looks worse, Cornfoot." Snerk. "And no one in the world would care to take my clothes off. I believe I am quite safe." Tongue. She stuck hers out, she didn't try to give it! And then, there was "Lowe!" Jenny swirled about on her stool, attempting the quiet boy a companionable arm-across-the-shoulders hug that didn't last. Hug is a strong word. It's more a squeeze and she looks…all too smug about it. "So, what's this I hear about you being generally loud and this quiet front you put on is..just a front?" Ohmygosh, who said that?!
Myrus nods to Frid when he starts getting him his drink. "Thank you.. um.. experienced sir." 'Old' would be rude. Creativity is kindness! Sometimes..
The across-the-shoulders-hug ish thing that Jenny gave him was accepted, with a reach up and a pat on her shoulder. The smug look is missed by him entirely since he's watching Frid pour his drink. "Oh?" He half asks to her saying she heard about him putting up a front. "No. What? Can't I be happy sometimes and people not try to delve into my personal li-" He stops, and just shakes his head. "No, just no. Sometimes I'm volatile, sometimes I'm not." A shrug.
Frid does stop pouring for just a moment as Myrus is addressed as Lowe, quickly resuming to finish the creamy pint and offer it over to the young man. He takes a moment to look Myrus over, then turns away to pour a couple of short glasses of whisky. Not the Bell's this time, but the good stuff. The single malts, hidden usually at the back, although the lack of dust on this particular 30-year old Lagavulin might imply it gets more use than its position might otherwise indicate. One is slid to Genevieve, while he takes up the other himself for a small sip, enjoying the flavour.
"Not according to what your cousin said…," Jenny sing-songs sweetly at Lowe, miscief dancing in her eyes, half watching Frid just to see if he's watching her people skills. After all, she'd promised, 'award winning' personality. Here's proof. And…blink. Well. That was suddenly a jump of the ladder of what she was going to have to pull out of pocket. No stopping for chocolates tonight, no sir. "Thank you," the girl intones. That particular 30 year old Lagavulin is, coupled with what she had earlier, probably going to put her on her ass. Thanks. "I thought you said you wouldn't gonna drink. What changed your mind?" Her coinpurse certainly felt it.
"It's only a small one," Frid admits, doing his very best to just fade into the background now there are more people at the bar. He's just furniture. It's his valet skills at work. I mean, he's there. If you look. But if you're not looking, you wouldn't notice him. The only thing you might yet notice is his attention to Myrus, and distracted attention from Jenny.
Myrus looks at Jenny, with some interest here. "Oh? She was here?" Interest in that fact, yes. Nothing over the top though. "Huh, too bad I missed her. Could have cleared this mess up right here and now. What did she say about me?" A little smirk on his face as he takes up his mug for the first time now, and takes a sip of the butterbeer. The taste was still strange to him, this being his second ever time drinking it. Smacking his lips as he sets the mug back down. Frid's attention on him is not completely noticed, but a glance and eye contact is made for a moment, but it's apparent that his attention is more on what Jenny has to say about Esther talking about him.
"So? One small thought, small word, small person," was she talking about her? "Can have a big impact. I mean, our discussion earlier? Started on a small single opinion that was shared and…grew." But the way her eyes continue to drift towards the tender mean that he's not just furniture to her. She had his attention, now it was fleeting and on Lowe, to boot. Which had the conversation from earlier circling around in her head. It meant she looked at Myrus a little harder, herself. "How worried are you?" She teases instead, before sipping her drink and while she'd handled Bell's easier earlier, there's a little throat clearing with this one. Above her usual level, certainly. Drunk slower, too.
Frid sips quietly from his drink, then sets it down and takes up a cloth to keep the bar sparkling. Just working here, nothing to see.
Rus just looks at Jen with a slight eyenarrow and a smirk of curiosity. "Ok, say I'm curious enough to want to hear it. What of it then?" He sips his own drink, eyeing them taking their shots, wondering what that tasted like, but he looks at Genevieve again while she's clearing her throat.
Huh. Shifting about on her stool, Jenny angles so that she can watch both Frid and Lowe, crossing her legs at the thigh, with an elbow proped in against the edge of the counter. "What's it worth to ya?" She inquires, mischief in her eyes.
Frid cleans. And if he happens to be glancing in Jenny's direction as she flashes leg, well, it's probably a coincidence.
Genevieve plays Quidditch. Those are nice legs, particularly in those fitting trousers. It's not his fault.
Frid is old. Not dead.
Myrus as well catches the leg movement after that daunting question. It takes a moment of thought before he remembers not to revert to loud, obnoxious self. "Eh, enough to walk to Hogwarts, go find her myself and ask her. So it has to be easier than a walk in the cold. A walk in the park, perhaps." He would completely agree with Frid on this one. A good moment to not be dead, but even if asked wouldn't agree nor disagree.
Rus takes another sip, saying after he swallows the swig, "You brew this here? Or is it brought here from somewhere else?" Idle chitchat. Trying to avoid something, perhaps?
"You know what's funny about people," where was this coming from? "They've got this..issues with things. Words. Behavior. Little triggers. They'll be doing something and then, suddenly without warning, it changes. Just, out of the blue. Poof!" Her eyes had shifted once again towards Frid when it was said though, before she lofted her glass in a silent salute and took a long drink, enjoying the burn for all that it came with a goosebump rising shudder. She finally got around to retrieving her money from the counter, to. "He's good for a…potent wiskey," she compliments of Frid instead, "Fine, old and aged, for the…discerning customer, was it? Imagine that." Alright, now she could be blamed for flirting. And ignoring, pointedly, Lowe's pressing for an answer.
Missing section. If you have it, do please add!
Myrus goes to help Esther up from falling out of her chair. She called her a liar, so he doesn't need to defend himself. Good. "But, yeah, why did you bring that here?"
Jenny laughs, she can not help but laugh. The look on Myrus' face, the way hes' shaking his head, Esther's, when she goes toppling off that stool, it was priceless. It was enough to finish off her drink too, and Jenny did, before sliding the empty glass away. And ah, Frid escaped without being slammed with questions, because the Lowe's are currently distracted. Problem solved. "Yes. Doesn't count though, I wasn't trying." Cheeky grin. "Are you okay?" Should she offer a hand up? Nah. Myrus was there.
Esther gets up slowly, placing a protective hand on her book. She accept the other hand to her feet from her cousin, and then glares at the conspiciously busy Frid. Sorry, Jenny, but you're temporarily ignored. "I /found/ you." She states. It's a half-truth. "You're a Lowe. I knew it." Bluffing. Myrus could probably tell, from the gross overconfidence.
Frid finds his drink again. It's rare he'll drink while he's working, but tonight, yes, there's a glass of half finished Lagavulin on the back bar with him. He takes a sip from it, slowly turning to view Esther. "You're mistaken, miss. My name's Lee."
Myrus looks between Jenny and Esther and Frid and omgwhat's going on? Lee? Lowe? He wasn't up on the family history. So he's kinda lost. After helping Esther up though, he returns to his butterbeer and mutters to himself, "..four more weeks… four more weeks.." and he breathes a sigh and oh man to find out what the other half drinks.
Esther pulls a face when her bluff is called so easily. "I will find you in here." She states. So she hasn't had a chance to look through it. That's a relief. She turns to Myrus, and blushes faintly. Realising that she's making a bit of a spectacle of herself… The wild-haired girl pulling herself onto a stool again, and then sounding much less like a crazy person. "Might I have a coffee, while I look through?" Three in one day… Tonight will be a long one."
Fabia Fairfax is a redhead who wears red. This evening, she's been so preoccupied with one thing and another — mostly filling the pages of a small sketchbook with vicious caricatures of Broomsticks patrons who have snubbed her lately — that she hasn't changed out of her bias-cut day dress of fine dark red wool, so soft it might be mistaken for cashmere, and the matching bolero jacket which does nothing to conceal the blazing glory of her beloved tulip diamonds. She was, in fact, drawing a man sitting just a few feet away from Esther, when the incident occurred — then her eye was drawn to Esther, and via Esther to Frid, to whose moods she is more sensitive than he must sometimes suppose. Heavens, what's this? She has the presence of mind to take her scorchingly-hot sketchbook with her, tucked under her arm, as she pops behind the bar, Mugglishly glamourous, smiling fabulously, in time to hear Frid's insistence upon his name being Lee. How to interrupt without seeming to give credence to — anything? She pats his arm; "Sweetie, will you make me a martini?" And then, to Esther: "I saw you fall; I do hope you didn't hurt yourself. Coffee, you said? This one's on the house, you poor thing. What's that you're reading?"
"Until you get a proper snog?" Well, Myrus was going on about it, after all and while it would be…untrue to say that Jenny is drunk, she has certainly become aware of what she's imbibed over the course of that last 30 year old glass. As a result, the censor on her tongue is somewhat, loosened. "You're going to scare him off, E. There's an easier approach for that, you know. We'll have to discuss this at some point."
"Martini, madam," Frid echoes dutifully, giving a deep nod of his head as he moves away in search of olives. Which are on the back bar, within easy reach, but perhaps today he wants different olives.
Well, Fabia is already in Esther's good books. Glamorous older women are a two-edged sword though, especially those that remind her too much of her Mother. There's suddenly an awful lot going on in her head, and she can't focus on the book she's so defiantly opening. "… I'll make you a deal, Genevieve. If you can tear your eyes off my; admittedly attractive, cousin… Maybe you could tell me now? She frowns at Frid. She simply won't have the time to find him in there right now.
Jen's lack of a censor on her tongue leaves Myrus' shoulders tensing up and a little embarassed face about him, as he looks over his shoulder at the girl with eyes narrowed. Wait, was she talking about Frid, or himself? Scared off? Hmmm. Then Esther chimes in, and he just sits down in the seat between the two girls, one stool on either side of him buffer between them. The initial thought to just leave with his face as hot as it was was quite tempting, but he dares stay and keep his composure, if he could regain it that is. It's taking a bit, but he sips his drink, staying quiet as he's talked about right there between the two young women.
Esther is the bookish, mildly odd looking teenager who, while not an out and out pariah in Slytherin, is hardly the most popular girl. She's an easy victim, having been involved in a lot of easily misunderstood situations during her time at school. See 'notes' for previous nicknames already established.
While Frid's away pursuing the wild olive to its den, Fabia tucks her sketchbook beneath his glass of Lagavulin (nobody'll touch it there, nobody'd have the nerve) and pours an absent-minded coffee for Esther. "Cream? Sugar? Curacao?" she offers companionably, leaning towards her over the counter behind the bar, unwilling to let go of their incipient conversation till she's got some idea how the girl managed to upset Frid — and how to keep it from happening again.
The rattling of a cocktail shaker from the far end of the bar, in the glasswash area, indicates that Frid has been successful in his ability as a mighty slayer of olives and what's more, has defeated the mythical vermouth and vanquished the gin. Every woman's dream.
"Cream, sugar." Esther smiles across at Fabia instead. It seems she's determined with the Frid thing though - Placing a hand on Myrus' thigh, she leans in to murmur to her cousin. "That man is a Lowe. I know it, Myrus, I can feel it. He says he's a muggle, but it can't be true." She taps her book possessively.
Not one to be foiled, Jenny shifts again, this time from her seat, to behind the two Lowe's, intent on draping an arm across both pair of shoulder's respectively. "You two need to ease up, you both obsess but over different things. I've never in my life met people more in need of fun, than the pair of you. Honestly, relax."
It's on the tip of Fabia's tongue to answer with 'yes, sugar', but one can't really flirt with the students, can one? Well, except Douglas Macmillan when he's trying out his lines on one, but everyone knows that's only in fun. She nods to Esther; and fetches a bowl of sugar lumps and a little jug of cream; and arranges all these excellent things upon the bar in front of the girl just as Frid, blessed Frid, sets before her another perfect martini. She beams up at him, and pats his arm. "Thank you, sweetie." And, to Esther, as she lifts her glass to her lips: "Cheers." Blissful sigh. Slight shiver. She puts down the glass, but leaves her hand upon the stem. "Did I hear you say something about Frid?" she murmurs over the bar to Esther. "Any gossip I ought to know about?"
Ok, so the stools were closer together than he'd expected.. oh wait.. there weren't any stools between he and Esther and Jenny. But Jen gets up and stands behind them, draping an arm over both of them. Myrus' eyes peer to the back towards the sound of the shaker, "I don't know what you're talking about.. noone ever told me about an uncle Fred… or Frid.. I guess." And then Jenny speaks. Terrible timing with Esther's hand on his thigh that he now realizes is there. His hand covers hers. "Genevieve, now isn't really a good time. But I'm sure fun will have it's time and place for both of us." Spoken as if they wouldn't be having fun together. That, and the dark tinge to his words hinted, to probably only Esther, that Jen's gentle kick-to-the-rear to have some fun reminded him of his family, and -why- someone might say he needed to have some fun.
Fabia's words get a look from him. But he doesn't have anything to say to her other than to help buffer some space between Esther and the situation, "She's been out of sorts lately, some things happening that are a little… stressful. I believe she's," a simple squeeze of Esther's hand on his thigh, "..just having one of those days, Madame..?" incinuating he didn't know her name with the raise of pitch at the end of 'madame'.
They have plenty of fun together. But Esther is the sort of person who has the most fun alone - Strangers find it difficult to have a good time with her. The arm on her shoulder causes her to turn sharply before she even has a chance to answer Fabia, more pressing concerns at play. Drunk student. "I have fun. This is family, I…" Myrus explains on her behalf, and she shoots him a long, continued glare. One hand still protects her copy of the family history, stroking it impatiently. His explanation is left to stand though. He'll pay for that later. She turns to Fabia, gnawing her lower lip for a moment. "Yes. One of those days." Coffee. Mouth. Introduction.
Martini delivered, Frid picks up his whisky, draining it in one long gulp before setting the glass down, perhaps a little more loudly than strictly necessary, aiming to get Fabia's attention so he can give her the Secret Signal. Which he should probably have arranged beforehand, as just staring at her doesn't seem to be doing the trick.
Fabia beams at the trio. She has no idea what's going on, but that's all right. "Fabia Fairfax," she says, offering her hand to each of them in turn, in her usual palm-down style which permits her fingertips to be clasped, or her knuckles to be kissed, according to one's own style, but no hand-shaking per se. Her big green eyes flutter between their faces, seeking cues. "I do hope you're all having fun, it would be such a shame if you're not. Is the coffee all right, sweetie? Not too strong? I think, just between us, it may have been sitting a little while. If it's too awful I can put on another pot."
The look on Jenny's face is one of plain confusion. Much is her retreat, for it certainly was that. With an air of, what did I step in and how do I get it off my foot, to it. But drunk? Not yet. "I'm going to, leave that one alone. With a smattering of pity. Because there's such a thing as relaxing, laughing at the world and generally relaxing. Cards, games, dancing, that aren't…," into a more…intimate relationship that they both seem to be laboring of the impression of her suggesting. "Yeah." Hands off. Several steps back. "Madam Proprietor, your good man there has my verbal application and my continuing compliments to such an establishment if ever you have the time. But I believe that mine," what the hell did they think she'd suggested? Don't think about it. "Has come to an end here, this evening. But I do hope to hear from you." Fabia. Or Frid. On Fabia's behalf. The Lowe's, for the moment she was, not poking at.
Esther takes the hand lightly by the fingers. "It's strong, sweet and creamy. Thank you." Esther has gone from determination to just plain miffed. Clearly whatever has her so frustrated is going to persist. In truth, it has all day, and Myrus has got to bear the brunt of it again, and again, and again. When Jenny goes to make her departure, Esther blushes, and turns to the girl. "Genevieve. I'm sorry. This… This isn't me." Not how she behaves. Her voice remarkably soft. Shy, almost. Her hand clenches Myrus' a little painfully. "Overtired. Upset. Confused. I will have to make my behaviour up to you. Later." Of course. Rumours being what they are, she had quite the emotional night last night.
Heavens, what it is to be young. The ups, the downs, the tempests, the coffee-pots. Fabia dimly recalls, though, in truth, she was more driven and disciplined in adolescence than anyone who knows her now could begin to suspect… She gives up trying to follow the exchanges between the trio of young people about matters which arose long before she arrived upon the scene, which will surely continue between them long after they're out of her sight; and has recourse to her martini, while smiling all round. It's then that she sees Frid looking at her. Her eyebrow goes up. Yes, sweetie?
Frid explains quietly, "Miss Solomon," a nod to Genevieve, "was inquiring about par time work behind the bar. During the school holidays and such."
Myrus accepts the glare and the scornful split second at him from Esther, and he doesn't fight it. He wasn't the best at tact or all that. Whatever it's called. He would take Fabia's hand lightly when offered, removed his hand to take his fingers under Fabias, and his other hand placed on top of it for just a moment, and then returning his other hand to Esthers, only to return to the iron grip of whatever it was that she was feeling at the moment. "Madame Fabia," he offers in greeting afterward. He looks at Esther empathetically, then over his shoulder to Jenny, "I'm sorry as well, part of this she's feeling is my fault." Maybe he should- Yes, yes that's it, shut up. That's the best course.
"Another time." To things being made up? "But I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you," the parting promise, while the trouser clad chit offered a somewhat flamboyant and masculine bow at the waist, before she straightened. An upnod tossed in Frid's direction and, out the door she strolled.
"Oh…" And now two or three of the pieces slot into place. Fabia looks at Genevieve with fresher, more attentive eyes. "I'm afraid I don't really know whether we need anyone at the moment," she apologises, "but if you'd like to come in and speak with the manageress next time you're in Hogsmeade— oh, goodbye, then, sweetie. … She was in rather a hurry," she concludes, in a more subdued tone, looking to Frid. The martini is further depleted.
Esther looks at her book. And then at Myrus. And then at the now-absent Genevieve. "I…" A pause. "'Rus… Can you take me home?" She murmurs. From happiness to anger to crushing sadness. Esther grips his thigh, and slowly slides off the barstool. "And my book. 'm sorry." She states softly, to no-one in particular. The emotional flipping between on and off seems to settle on the down switch.
Myrus was quickly out of his seat and fluidly across the room. He had a dignity about him when she requests he take her home. Something there that maybe even Esther hadn't seen often before, as he was able to take care of her for once, just like that time on the rooftop, unhesitant and quick to act, he grabs his own coat, throwing it on and walking over with her robes over his arm to offer them to her. He looks to Fabia, "Madame, good evening to you both." For Frid, whre'ver he went off to.
Esther is into her robes, and in Myrus' protective custody without a moments thought. Her cousin is allowed to walk her home peacefully, without any further incident.
Alone on the bartop, a silver-embossed book sits. 'Lowe'. Property of Esther Lowe. A curiousity that Fabia might interesting - And something that the girl will certainly want back.
Whilst coats and robes are being sorted out, Esther isn't paying much attention to anything, and Myrus's attention is all for Esther. In a moment when they're both looking away, Fabia's hand darts out and snatches up the book. It's quickly hidden behind the bar, and she bids the cousins a pleasant and perfectly innocent good evening on her way to serve another patron. She'll give it back, of course. After she's had a damn good look.