Rests and Regulars

Rory had laid off ever since their fight and the Great Zabini Christmas Fiasco which, she continually reminded herself, she had not even told him about. In truth, she had told Yuri and Kip, but she somehow instinctively knew that it was neither of them. She knew a certain Frenchman with loose lips and more bull-headed loyalty than any singular friend could handle. She had touched on her frustration with Rory that night, and she had no doubt that he had cornered her brother the second she wasn't around to demand he treat her better, to which Kip and Yuri probably diffused both tempers and diplomatically agreed on behalf of Kenna.

She didn't need her friends to fight her battles. She had plans to berate the three men for their involvement, reminding them all that it was subtly sexist to assume she could not handle herself - and yet, there was a warmth towards the men, all three better brothers to her than the one God had given her, surprised as she was every day to find herself in the graces of such wonderful people.

Rory had been more patient with her, stopping by the office to check and see if there was anything in particular that she needed. She never had anything for him, but she once asked him to pick up some fresh scallops, as they had miscounted for the daily special. He sent out one of the managers before heading out, and she couldn't help but feel her heart sink as she watched him leave - he had missed the point entirely.

Today's lunch was particularly slow. She could have released her shift manager, but she knew Dana needed the money so she leaned over the bar, her chin resting lazily in her chin, twisting her ankle back and forth with a tune she was humming to herself as she lazily reviewed the new specials for the next week.

*

The Editor-in-Chief was not particularly known for taking off during lunch, but he was genuinely exhausted after the long days of research and interviews that the reporters - himself included - had been conducting after what happened at Grummauld Place. Anyone who didn't recognize the name was, first, a fool. And second, not someone he wanted to associate himself with. That was why, when lunch hour rolled around, he had zero interest in staying in London. In fact, he went incredibly far away, remembering the pub that he and Maude had started to have their dinners when they got together every couple of weeks.

Ever since her boss's birthday party or whatever the hell it was, she had been harder to get ahold of. But he had become oddly fond of the place, so he just hoped it would give him something of a break. After all, hardly any of the patrons or employees would recognize him there.

So Gilbert mentally brushed off his stress, deciding that he would go for a simple lunch - but certainly a drink. Who could blame him, with the job he had?

Gil wandered up to the bar and sat down. He nearly pulled out the book he'd brought with him, but knew better than to think he could really focus on it. Reading for fun, ironically, had never been his thing. Instead, he looked around and tried to casually catch the eye of the woman he was pretty sure owned the place. As ready as he was to think about something besides work, he wasn't prepared to go and interrupt her.

She glanced up as the door opened and offered a casual smile of welcome to the man entering without really taking him in fully. Her attention was stolen by the specials once more as she tried to weigh the pros and cons of listing their chowder mere weeks after it had made an appearance. But the cold weather seemed to put people in soup-y moods, and it seemed like a shame to pass up on the opportunity for fear of being repetitive...

She felt eyes on her and her eyes fluttered upwards, realizing the man that had come in still had not been served. She glanced around for Dana, spotting her in the corner of the bar, leaning over and chatting up the trio of businessmen who had just gotten their orders. Kenna wasn't going to rob her of their tips, so she pushed her work aside and slid down the bar, reaching for a glass as she gave the customer a smile.

"Sorry 'bout the wait, mate, slow days breed slow minds. What can I get you to drink?" She spotted some left over condensation on the bar and scooped up a rag, reaching over to wipe the bar. She paused, remembrance tickling at the back of her mind. "Prichard, right?" she asked, squinting uncertainly. Tons of people filtered in and out of her pub, but she managed to sometimes piece together names and faces.

Gil offered the Scottish woman a nod and a failed attempt at a smile, but he was a little too exasperated after the morning he'd had to really hit the right tone. It helped, though, when she recognized him and he was able to offer a surprised and rather pleased nod.

"Yeah, exactly. My sister and I come in here sometimes. She's quite fond of the place," he added, hoping to extend some kind of positive common ground. If nothing else, it might win him some points with her. He didn't expect a discount this time, but maybe down the line... Well. It would certainly be nice, wouldn't it?

"I know it's only lunch, but it's been one of those days. Let's do... gin and tonic?" He suggested, tilting his hand in a shrug-like gesture until it was palm up. Then he set both arms down on the bar as he leaned forward. "I'm trying to figure what to do for lunch. You got a favorite?"

The mention of his sister solidified the connection, and a bright smile slowly rolled across her lips, the right side of her mouth lifting further than the left as her head tilted knowingly. "Maude," came the name, pleasant and full on her tongue. "Knew I recognized you. Can't believe - I mean, you get it, lots of patrons." She shook her head, not wanting to dig herself further into this hole. "Maude's an absolute joy." That was a good enough button, she supposed.

"Even if it wasn't one of those mornings, not my place to judge," she said with a wry grin. Maybe, as a bartender, she had a responsibility to encourage... well... responsibility. But she liked to think being a trusted friend to her patrons was the best defense for potentially dangerous habits.

"Gin and tonic," she parroted, hefting a glass into her hand, the habit of showing off for the crowded dinner services causing her to flick the glass in the air, before setting it down and setting about making the drink. She tilted her head at his question and hummed thoughtfully, plopping a thin straw into the drink before setting it onto a napkin and sliding it towards him.

"Well, you can help settle something for me. I'm supposed to be pushing out salmon sandwich this week but instinct is telling me everyone's going to ignore it for the chowder anyway. If you try both, I'll comp you for the food."

Maybe this was why Rory stayed out of the business. She was a mess.