[Deitha Albron]

Bonehead wasn't any trouble for Deitha as she ferried them both home from Meridian. Honestly, Deitha thought Bonehead had had a pretty good day all in all. She'd been out, seen things, smelled things, been a passive passenger completely unaware of all the things that had transpired - and got hugs out of it. What was not to like about that?

She wasn't sure if she was going to confide in Odhrán of what almost happened at the house. She wasn't sure she particularly wanted to admit that she had wanted to lay waste to the place. How the anger had boiled up inside her - but when it mattered, she did the right thing. Not, perhaps, for the right reason, but the right thing nonetheless. Perhaps after a few drinks she might admit to it. He might figure it out anyway - Odhrán Ó Dálaigh was a smart cookie, and being a legilimens gave him a few advantages in that department.

But hopefully the evening would be more pleasant. They'd done a thing. All things considered, net positive. Someone had been saved from ... whatever in Merlin's name that was. Perhaps not in Merlin's name, though. If even half the legends were true, Merlin had been vastly more respectable, not that being more respectable than "whoever she'd dropped a door onto" was difficult.

Deitha fixed some food into Bonehead's bowl - the good stuff today, meat with jelly, and some dry mix in case of hunger pangs in the night, and topped up her water bowl. Nice and uncomplicated, just how she wanted her evening to continue, really.

Next up was hosing herself down quickly in the bathtub; there wasn't really the time for a bath, but that was no matter, as Deitha had had one of those rubber hose arrangements fitted to the taps, so she could rinse off quickly and easily. And, to be fair, it also made washing things easier with a directable stream of water, but for tonight it was simply about having a lather and a rinse. As she'd disrobed, she'd rediscovered the second wand she'd stowed in it, which looked so much the worse for wear. "Its owner won't be needing it any time soon," she thought, but she stopped herself from simply snapping it. She could turn it over to the Auror's Office, quietly. Let them investigate its priori incantatem.

The thing was, the day's events were under her skin and no amount of washing would get that off. Not yet, anyway. She was surprised at herself for being squeamish, surely she'd seen more atrocious things than that, then the shambling horrors she'd conjure up for others - but the truth was much more complicated. The day would stay with her awhile. That house. That room. The shower was simply to sluice off the outermost layer and present the veneer of civility and cleanliness outermost.

And, truth be told, the choice of fashion for the evening was troublesome. There seemed almost nothing in her wardrobe that was entirely apt; it wasn't a date so nothing slutty, none of the current 'fashion trends' like miniskirts (and besides, Odhrán really wasn't her type, through no fault of his), but she was going to have a relaxing good time, so nothing stuffy and formal at the other end of the spectrum - but also not downmarket and beneath her. That veneer of civility again, which ruled out a lot of the more flowy and light dresses she had.

Eventually she settled on a trim blue number with quite a large white collar, and a matching belt to cinch it around her waist. It wasn't particularly pretty but it was on trend in fashion so she could go somewhere nice and not seem out of place. And it was comfortable to wear even if it wasn't perhaps her usual brand of 'statementy'. One couldn't always be the centre of attention, after all.

She presented herself an hour later at the door of Meridian, smartly dressed, clutch bag in hand, waiting to see if Odhrán was ready to go.

She'd decided she was going to suggest Revolution; despite its appearance and veneer of faux-snobbishness, despite its upscale pretensions, and those of its owner, the place was really a rather reasonable watering hole for people who wanted to drink, to eat, and to not be disturbed. It had that going for it - mostly because anyone who was actually anyone wouldn't dare be seen dead in it. It would simply never do in society to be seen there. But for some that was its allure, a place to not be seen, fancy upscale pretensions left wanting.

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

Back in an hour. That's what she'd said. After having attended to his patient, there was a little but of time left. He'd administered some dreamless sleep. Thankfully, his stores weren't as depleted as he had feared. There was a thought scratching in his mind that he should get back into simple brewing. Anything spagyric was out of the question, but a dreamless sleep? Even a school girl could brew that.

He decided that there probably wasn't enough time to head back home, so instead a shower downstairs would have to do. It felt good to wash off the grime after having been to that dilapidated mess. The warm water seemed to ease the tension in his muscles, and he just stood motionless for a while. Today had been hard, but he was okay.

Given that he was stuck at Meridian, there wasn't much to be found in the way of clean clothing. In the end he opted for the dark blue linen suit that he still hadn't taken back home for lack of better options. It would have to do and Deitha probably didn't care anyway. She'd never commented on his looks, even though she clearly had a point of view when it came to fashion. She liked drawing attention and standing out. Odhrán liked blending in. They really couldn't have been more different in that.

Just before heading out, he called upon one of his elves to watch his patient just in case anything happened. The woman was fast asleep, and if the potion he had given her was working as intended she wouldn't wake until morning. However, it was better to be safe than sorry. He couldn't help with feeling a little uneasy about leaving her behind. Odhrán a few months ago would have stayed awake at her bedside all night, even knowing that there was nothing more to be until the morning. Maybe, he was learning.

As he left the building, he could see that Deitha was already waiting for him.

"Sorry," he muttered into her direction. "I didn't notice I was running late. Please tell me you haven't been waiting here for long. Shall we? Where to?"

Despite having worked in London for years, he still didn't know his way around. Revolution had once been his go to option, but after what had happened with the proprietor he wasn't keen to suggest the place anymore. The mere memory of it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

[Deitha Albron]

"There you are," she smiled. "No, I only just got here myself." It wasn't entirely true, but she hadn't been waiting more than a few minutes. Truth be told she was half expecting to have been stood up after the events of the day. They'd done things, and those things weighed upon her, and no doubt upon him too. But she was pretty determined to prise him out of that cubbyhole he called a clinic and have some fun.

It didn't escape her notice that he had a blue linen suit on, it suited him - it was flattering, without being grandiose or ostentatious. It suited his personality, and was entirely appropriate for a night on the town.

"Shall we? Yes, yes we shall!" She giggled at some private joke. "In this corner of town..." she paused, hand on chin, feigning some deep thought. "Revolution isn't far from here, and no-one'll bother us there. Not even that old battleaxe who owns the place will give us any trouble. It's her night off and she goes out to less dingy places to try to court wealthy old men." With a conspiratorial tone, Deitha muttered just loud enough to be heard. "Between you and me, she's pretty desperate, they're all repulsed by her lack of class, but they're shrewd enough to let her pay for all the drinks."

It was getting a little awkward her stood on the doorstep and not going in, or him coming out beyond the doorway.

"I don't know about you but I just want somewhere we can go get a drink, more than one drink, and where no-one will care that we're there. Besides, Revolution doesn't water the cocktails down too much. So, shall we?"

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

"Ugh," Odhrán complained. "Revolution, really?" Out of all the places in London, why did she have to suggest there? What was it with Deitha always knowing if something would be uncomfortable to him and tapping right into that? His eyes betrayed his discomfort, but he tried to keep it together. His friend had seen far more of his personal troubles than he was prepared to share. Maybe, just the once he could keep his dignity intact and not tell her the details. Deitha didn't have to know about his disagreement with the proprietor.

"How about we go to Cavendish's instead?" It was the only other place he could come up with on the spot and Odhrán quite liked it. Situated near Diagon Alley it was easily the fanciest restaurant in the area. They served exquisite French cuisine, which always reminded him of the time he had worked and lived in Paris. They weren't really dressed for it though; Deitha perhaps even less than him. Surely they wouldn't turn down a guest though? He tried to think back if he'd ever noticed somebody not being admitted. Hmm, maybe it had happened once or twice.

"Or I could take you to Inis Cú. Maybe I do have another big apparition in me today." The notion of Deitha visiting the island was strange though. She was so quintessentially English it was hard to picture her being comfortable in a small Irish village. There was also every chance she might be self-conscious about the language barrier. No, maybe today was not the time to make an attempt at that. Also, it would probably send the wrong signal and he didn't want Deitha to think he was coming onto her.

"Is there anywhere else in town you like?" He asked hopefully. "Really, just anywhere but Revolution if you wouldn't mind. I couldn't be more bored by it if I tried." There. He'd managed to encourage a different venue without going into the details of yet more drama. Now she just had to agree to any one of the alternatives.

[Deitha Albron]

Hrm, she sensed she'd touched a nerve. There was a look in his eyes as she'd said it that hinted at unpleasantness, and his reaction confirmed it. She wondered, briefly, what the problem was - it couldn't be the cocktails, but likely he'd had a run in with that battleaxe that runs the place. She wondered whether Odhrán had upset her, or vice versa. She wasn't known as 'the battleaxe' without reason.

'Bored' was not the adjective she might have come up with, though the sense of weariness associated with the bar dragon definitely resonated.

He'd given a couple of suggestions, in response and hopes of not conquering unfair maidens today, presumably.

"Cavendish's? Have you been there? I may be a waif and stray, with all of this nothing to me but even I'd eat three courses at Cavendish's and still be hungry!" She laughed, trying to make light of it, but she did have some concerns about being inappropriately dressed for the place, and mocking the place over its portion sizes was a good save, she thought.

But the other place he named really put her off. Deitha tried to copy the sounds. "And this other place, Im... Inn-ish-coo? Where even is that? I do think we want to stay nearer to home, preferably somewhere we can walk to, I'm not sure either of us has another apparition today."

There was a moment of staring into the gloom, hand on chin, before snapping her fingers in some mild frustration. "I know you said not Revolution and I'm trying to think of anywhere nearby that isn't so fancy but that wouldn't be boring. Maybe there's something else in Diagon Alley? I'm not usually over this part of town."

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

Odhrán shrugged uncomfortably. "Do I look like the sort who knows their way around London?" he asked. "I never stay any longer than I have to after work. And you know, social pariah, legillimens, son of a traitor and that whole shebang. Tends to put a dent into one's popularity with the unwashed masses."

It felt strangely good to just be blunt about that. There were so few people who knew about his personal circumstances he had almost forgotten how nice it was to have somebody he could share things with; somebody who wasn't family. He supposed there really was no reason for being  economical with information around Deitha. She'd seen him at his lowest point and they'd just enacted vigilante justice together. He was comfortable with Deitha and had made that choice a while back. He might as well see it through even if he felt reluctant about opening up some more and admitting to another vulnerable spot.

"And I guess I should say that Oriana Decker and I have a long history," he said in reference to the battle-axe that ran Revolution. "I really could do with not running into her tonight, so anywhere else is fine. I'd take sleeping in the nearest ditch over having to spend a minute in that woman's company."

For a moment his expression gave way to something hard, cold and angry that looked just wrong on Odhrán. He wasn't usually one to lose his temper, but Oriana, well, she was a special case. They'd been in a tug of war for years and kept crossing each other's paths. How to even describe it? Their family history defined their interactions, but their was a hint of latent attraction in the mix. He'd once considered her beautiful and charming, but that had been before.

"Just, anywhere else, alright?" He probably sounded lovesick or something, but he no longer cared. The more he thought about Oriana the more certain he became that he did not want to see the woman. He touched his fingers to the spot on his skull where Oriana had pulled out a strand of his hair and sliced into his scalp. The spot had long since healed, but a dull remnant of pain still made itself known from time to time. He'd get her back for that some time.

[Deitha Albron]

She stood taking in Odhrán's comments. She herself had no positive connections with Oriana Decker whatsoever, beyond the fact that Revolution was a decent enough drinking den and it had interesting people there. It was also big enough that you could usually avoid the dragon if you needed to.

But she was beginning to get a sense of just how rough Odhrán's run-ins with the battle-axe were, and Deitha had a few scars of her own in that department. Oriana did... like it a bit rough at times, but she had some very questionable taste decisions. Both in furniture and in lovers... and if Odhrán had history, that could certainly make it more awkward.

"I understand." It was simple, factual, and understanding. She half expected some rebuke for not having a clever or witty comeback, but she was busy thinking about where else.

"Hmmm, just want somewhere not too fancy where we can get a drink and unwind after the day... tell you what, I've heard there's a place just off the Charing Cross Road that's meant to be opening this week, a cocktail place. I've seen the posters for it and it's not that far from here. The Morning Star, I think it's called. Supposed to have some nice drinks. How does that sound? We can always go find a chippy or something after if you're hungry."

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

Charing Cross Road? Wasn't that somewhere in the Muggle part of town? The name rang a bell, but Odhrán couldn't quite place it. Well, her suggestion was alright. Trying out a new place would be fun. He supposed he was dressed inconspicuously enough to quickly pass through a Muggle street or two. Not that London folks cared. The local muggles seemed to embrace all sorts of unusual fashions.

"Sounds good to me," he affirmed to Deitha. "Let's check out their drinks and if we feel like food later on there's a couple of options I know about. I used to work late pretty frequently." Bit of an understatement really, but Deitha knew what he was like.

The Morning Star ended up being near the Muggle tube station at Leicester Square in a little side street of St Martin's Court. Odhrán could say with certainty that he'd never been in this street before, even though it was less than 5 minutes from Diagon Alley. Was this still wizarding London? Or again? The buildings were all older and constructed from well-preserved red brick. Most of the timbered shopfronts had been painted a dark green, while the shop names were written in golden lettering. Slightly upmarket from Diagon, but not as fancy as Belgravia or Mayfair.

Inside, the Morning Star wasn't very busy. It had been furnished with some Chesterfield sofas, brass and green banker's lamps and sturdy wooden tables. The walls featured a series of portraits depicting famous wizards. Lithographic reproductions from the looks of it, rather than originals. Odhrán noted the little golden plaques under each portrait given the name of each wizard. Something about it just felt too much.

"Shall we take a table or would you prefer to sit at the bar?"

[Deitha Albron]

It was with some relief that Odhrán had agreed to try the Morning Star - it was somewhere she'd been meaning to go, and it was on the fringes between wizarding and Muggle London. It appealed to her slightly warped sense of everything because nothing about it quite fitted, just like her. What she did enjoy was that it wasn't far from the West End of London where the theatres were, and much as mingling with Muggles wasn't exactly the wisest idea, something about their theatres drew her in - it meant she could just indulge in the spectacle and the drama for a couple of hours and ignore everything else. Besides, there was something about the theatre that appealed to her; there was a dose of theatricality in her work, after all.

It looked nice enough from the outside, the lettering in gold on the timber frontage. That was the fashion of the moment, to dress things in gold on dark green, and the Morning Star was no exception.

Pushing the door open, Deitha was pleased to note that it hadn't been open long enough to attract that... used bar smell. It wasn't all stale beer, fag ash or the pungent odour of patrons who didn't make it to the bathroom in time. Even parts of established venues that were well maintained didn't boast that... and even wizards tend to be lax about it in the dingier drinking dens. In hindsight she was glad she hadn't gone to Revolution - because in spite of its apparent lustre, it ticked all of those boxes, it was just cheap enough not to be offensive about it at the same time. It was nice to be somewhere nicer for a change.

"I don't know about you but I don't like sitting at the bar unless I want to be bothered by people, and I don't really want everyone knowing our business. There's a nice quiet table in the corner we can take."

As she pointed, she was also taking in what drinks seemed to be on offer, what everyone else was drinking. It didn't pay to enter a new place without at least a quick look at what everyone else already had sussed out about a place. Most punters seemed to have pint glasses, and it looked to her that most were drinking something a little stronger and darker than Butterbeer - some of them were drinking a very curious drink that seemed to be half black in colour and one half a golden brown. A few were drinking something that looked frothy and golden, richer in hue than Butterbeer.

"What would you like to drink? I'm thinking to start the evening off with a rum and black, what about you?"

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

"A table it is," Odhrán agreed easily and the settled into a comfortable corner of the pub. Looking around he noticed that most of the guests were drinking beer. He'd never understand why people liked that stuff. In his opinion, it lacked in sophistication. Apparently, there were a few bits and pieces of his privileged pureblood upbringing that had stuck. He preferred wine and always had. He'd spent too much time in Romandy and France to feel any other way.

Taking a look at the drinks list he noted the depressing selection. House White and House Red were the only items on offer. He'd long since learned that this was usually a euphemism for whatever wine was the cheapest and more often than not that it was unnaturally sweet. Apparently, the Brits liked their drinks on the sweeter side.

Of course there was no table service, which meant Odhrán had to walk up to the bar to order Deitha's rum and black and whatever he was having. He tried asking what region the house red came from and what vintage it was. Odhrán thought this to be a reasonable question, but the bartender just gave him an apologetic shrug.

"I'll have to get the boss for that," he informed Odhrán. "If you can wait a couple of minutes she'll come to your table." Odhrán smiled awkwardly and tried to apologise and make another choice, but the barman insisted that it was no trouble at all. It felt like the opposite was the case, but when he was already bothering the proprietor he might as well go all in. "If you have a 1954 Malbec that would be delightful."

He paid for Deitha's drink, and made his way back to their table. "Apparently, ordering a red is considered a difficult transaction here," he explained the situation to his friend. "I've gotta wait for the owner of this place to put an order in." His tone was wry, but his eyes looked rather amused in a way only a pureblood could be when confronted with the absurdities of lower class life.

"How's yours? Everything you hoped for?"

[Deitha Albron]

Deitha was wryly amused at her drinking partner's comments. She'd never thought too hard about wine - it had never been entirely to her taste, and she wondered what substitute for paint-thinner that Odhrán must drink if the British palate in wines was 'too sweet' for him, seeing as how all of the wines she'd ever encountered were on the bitter side.

She took a moment to inhale the alcoholic concoction then took a sip. Syrupy sweet, just the way she liked it - and she smiled broadly. "Perfect, thank you! Just the think to perk you up after a complicated day."

The look in his eye had a twinkle she'd not seen before. She supposed that the situation was mildly absurd, that a place dedicated to selling alcohol made the transaction difficult, but then again, she knew how fussy some people were about their vices.

"We're getting to meet the owner, though, we can complement them on their wonderful decor choices."

[Oriana Decker]

Oriana was a little surprised by the knock at her door. She had expected it to be quiet - it was a quiet night of the week, the initial 'new place in town' trade had began to drift, the regular crowd had settled in, and there was plenty of trade, just in different evenings. It was even quite cushy, really, this place had settled into a different routine to Revolution, quite nice really.

But Gregory, the barman, asked about the red wine - he was new, and Oriana had figured the punters in this part of town weren't the fancy type. So a question about the house red was unexpected, and when Gregory mentioned in passing that the punter had asked about a 1954 Malbec, she laughed.

"Fancy that, eh, someone rahnd 'ere wanting a Malbec? I wonder... which table did you say they was at?"

Oriana let Gregory lead the way from out back, and let him point the table. Even across the bar - it wasn't the brightest of venues, intentionally of course - but she could make out the two figures at the table. Was... was that the Irishman? What was Ó Dálaigh doing here? How the mighty have fallen.

And who was that with him? She had to contain the laugh... how the mighty have fallen, if he's hobnobbing with Deitha bloody Albron. She'd had a couple of run-ins over the years, both professionally... and personally.

Well, well, and they both here. Even she couldn't contain a small cackle.

"I'm afraid," she said, affecting the poshest accent she could muster, "That the house red is just a cheap French cab. sauv." The accent didn't stick, though. "I'm rahver afraid I don't have anyfing quite as fancy as a Malbec, not rahnd 'ere, anyway."

"Is there anyfing I can get the pair of you?"

She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of being the first to say something.

[Odhrán Ó Dálaigh]

Decker. After all the trouble he had gone through to avoid Revolution, here she was anyway. Was there no getting away from this wretched woman. She was wearing a saccharine smile that made Odhrán want to punch her. He tensed up only to seconds later slip into a state of apparent relaxation again. In a somewhat instinctual move he had occluded his thoughts, no wanting to leave himself vulnerable to Decker in any way. He was reasonably sure the woman couldn't see inside his mind, but he still felt safer around her when firmly in control of how much emotion he betrayed.

Her chafing accent made something inside his body clench, but his expression remained carefully neutral. "If I'd known that you're the proprietor I'd not have asked. Any chance for a gin and gillywater or is that too fancy for rahnd 'ere as well?" He really hadn't intended to, but he'd just been unable to resist mocking her accent. He knew it was petty and childish, but she bothered him a great deal.

"And while we're at it, how about you don't add any extra ingredients to my drink tonight?" His memory of what had happened the last time he had seen Oriana Decker was still a little fuzzy. He was sure that things had started with Oriana dosing his drink with something. He wasn't quite sure what. He'd felt tired and befuddled. At the time he thought it had been his trip to Azkaban exhausting him, but in hindsight that didn't make sense. He'd been dealing with his obscurial pathology for months on end and while he was often tired he was still compos mentis. That night though his head had been full of treacle. There'd been questions about his father, his family and what exactly he knew. Odhrán hadn't given away much of anything. And then he wasn't so sure what happened. A duel perhaps? Or a fight? It was all so hazy.


Was he staring at Decker? Probably. Odhrán averted his gaze and turned his attention back to Deitha. "Anyway, that just happens to be the way I feel about it," he said continuing an imaginary conversation they hadn't been having and dismissing Oriana with a quick wave. "Did you know that they are proposing a new potion to deal with vanishing sickness in older patients as well? Apparently there is a new promising reaction between ashwinder ash and agapanthus blossoms that works wonders for stabilising patients. I was thinking just to other day that such a treatment could easily be converted into a spagyric recipe with very minimal changes and it would make it a lot less taxing on the body."

He cast a sideways glance to check if Decker was still there or if she had finally buggered off.

[Deitha Albron]

Deitha was momentarily stunned. Oriana was the owner of this place? It explained a few things, but honestly, after her experiences with the battle-axe in Revolution, she wouldn't have expected Oriana to be quite this tasteful.

Maybe she'd hired a new interior decorator this time around. Maybe.

But that accent - Deitha had lived and worked in the rougher parts of London enough that the accent didn't generally bother her, but Oriana's still made her skin crawl. It was that intersection of fingernails on a chalk board and those dratted muggle bicycles with their squeaky noises when they stopped.

And if that wasn't enough, she got a taste first-hand of what Odhrán thought of Oriana. That was... unexpected. Body posture, and even a passable attempt at mocking the accent. He must really have issues with her. Though not even the Irish and European lilts to his own accent could hide the fact that, when all was said and done, Oriana's accent was as rough as a badger's arse. There was a time when that accent had been softer, along with its owner's personality, but that was a while ago and they'd both been a little more... naive. Deitha knew that Oriana could rub people the wrong way but not like this surely?

Then the claim of putting something in the drinks? She'd known Revolution to water down the drinks but never to spike them. Maybe Oriana had a thing for Odhrán - Dietha knew first-hand that when Oriana wanted something, Oriana usually got it, one way or another.

It was clear what Odhrán was thinking, though, as if to pretend neither of them had an issue with the blonde standing almost-menacingly over them. "A new potion for vanishing sickness? That'd come in handy. Though I don't know about ashpanthus plossoms, or agawinder wishes, you were always more the botanist."

Dammit. Oriana's looming presence had rattled her and she'd mixed up the words while sounding like some kind of teenager tongue-tied in front of that muggle band that everyone seemed to love. 'Always more the botanist', how awkward was that? Would she just sod off already?

[Oriana Decker]

Watching these two was quite the caper for her. Poor little Deitha, trying so hard not to flirt, always unlucky in love. And as for Odhrán, there would have to be a score settled there. But not today. Not round here, anyway.

"Mr Ó Dálaigh, I'm sure I cahn find you a gin an' gillywater. And seein' as it's you, I won't even put anything in it." You're only supposed to put a slice of lime in a gin and tonic, even if the tonic is gillywater, cuts the alkaline of the juniper and gives it a bit of life. Odhrán would probably go spare if he had to deal with a gin and tonic without it, though, so even more reason to.

"And the lovely Miss Albron, still drinkin' the rum an' black, are we? Don't let me keep you, though," Her voice dropped conspiratorially, "I'd watch aht for Mr O-Doilly 'ere. He's a right 'un, and I remember how you... prefer a bit of the other." A click of the tongue, a wink and Oriana walked away.

She had no idea what those two were doing together, they seemed so unsuitable, but it'd be fun finding out.