bartenders delight. [Eva]

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The Boggart’s Den was hardly a reputable place for any young dignified young Witch or Wizard, so a character of Mr. Koenigs caliber was a rare patron indeed. He sat perched upon one of many tall barstools, the dark-finished oak countertop calcified with beerwell concoctions and sticky residue in which his elbow relaxed, a black and gold balanced carefully between his index and middle finger, it’s spectral wisps of smoke unfurling into the already syrupy golden halcyon atmosphere. His back was angled in a downward slump, all airs of his usual regent importance cast aside. Delicately he flicked ash into a nearby tray. It was nearing dawn and soon the cautious habitué faces would squirm back into whatever dark dank holes they reared their ugly heads, Amadeus included, but for now his opulent high rise loft in London just sounded both comfortless and companionless. He raised the nat sherman to his colorless lips and drew in deeply. His eyes traveled the length of the bar and fell on the bartender, a large and immensely hairy Wizard who went by the name of Fenris.

”See, this is the problem with places like this. None of your bloody customers ever want to talk to one another. Supes are all so caught up in their own air of indifference,” he says out loud, rather bitterly, a scathing gaze wandering around the small pubs inhabitants. Two goblins sat in the corner playing cards, a witch who smelled strongly of hag and pickled herring at the other end of the bar sniffling silently to herself. They dared not raise their heads to Amadeus’s smug arrogance. He lifted a tumbler half-drained with an amber colored liquid and put it to his lips, siphoning the rest smoothly, reveling in the searing sensation sliding down his throat. Fenris, the bearded bartender now washing glasses with what looked like a rather dingy rag, grunted something that sounded like an uncultured ‘mrmph’ and Amadeus took it as a sound of agreement and alliance. He then swayed his way unsteadily over to Amadeus and refilled the spirit, and as a second notion also filled a glass for himself, to which the two men lightly clinked glasses.

@eva

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It was not a time or place where the young witch would usually be caught. The dark underbelly of the world loomed threateningly around her, and the stars were hidden in the fumes of the city. A dim light, reaching its fingers over the edge of the horizon told the werewolf that dawn would be upon them in a merger few hours. The air was eerily silent. If there were birds in this corner of the world, they would have broken through, heralding a new day. The silence remained heavy, broken only by the crunch of footsteps on the grey mush that used to be snow. Eva glanced up to the sky. There was no promise of more snow. The inky black space was tainted by orange light. It hung heavily draped over the world. Information was what brought Eva to this dank place. Yet, she had had no luck. This alley only held strangers. Interaction between people was minimal. For the final hours of the night, Eva had found a place that was reputably a creature friendly place. Her lips twisted bitterly. She had finally found her kennel, hidden in the maw of Knockturn Alley. The dog had found a home for the night. She sat quietly at the bar, trying not to attract much attention. She sipped her Firewhiskey, keeping herself at the brink of a clear mind. Her back was ridged, betraying the tenseness of her muscles. She shifted uncomfortably, draining the last of her drink. It was time to return to the comfort of the castle. This night had proven to be a waste of time. As Eva caught a glance of the bartender cleaning the glass with a dirty rag, she shuddered and supressed the urge to retch. This was certainly no place for her. A voice caught her attention as she placed the glass down. Her eyes darted to the figure sitting near her at the bar. The near translucent skin of the stranger and her inner instinct told her this creature was that of the night. Eva had long sought a normal life, so had no indulged in the rivalry between the two species. Still, an edge of dislike found its grasp. A slight sneer touched her lips before she managed to suppress it. The night had been long indeed and the politeness that had always masked Eva’s true reactions was slipping away. She shook her head, a little ashamed of her instant dislike. So she turned back to the stranger, intent on proving herself wrong. She watched curiously as he clinked glasses with the inebriated bartender. “So, shall we talk then, dearest sir?” she asked, unsure of how to open up a conversation with this man.

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As he clinked his glass with the bartender another scent reached his acute nose.

If you ask a vampire anything about Were, there was a significant chance the response you would receive would be nothing short of revulsion. It was written in the tales of old, fables and legends with their spines tearing away and filthy paper decaying. It was ingrained in their anomalized genes like doctrines of caustic tradition. It was something about blood and the way Amadeus’s usually stagnant claret quickened in a repellent hair-raising way. And for them, it was the way his cold dead body moved and spat back at the face of mortality, cruelly defying the laws of humanity in such a nefarious way. Most of all it was the smell and the most basic of instincts that screeched its repugnance. So, when Amadeus pulls back, clearly taken aback, one must understand he was simply acting on rooted inclinations and not at all on an individual basis.

That’s not to say those narrow prejudices did not influence his interactions with this beast. She was after all a beast of nature while Amadeus sat there unfadingly pale and confused, her vis-a-vis, the big fuck you to mother nature. Nebulous eyes narrowed and looked the girl up and down cynically, uncertain of what to make of this blatant disregard to the implicit rulebook. An obstinate lock of blond fell from his efficiently slicked hair. Irritated, he flicked it away and drank deeply from his glass, thinking bitterly that if he could bite his own tongue off without repercussions, he would.

“I suppose you liken yourself to a comedian, Fido. Come and sit closer then,” he invited begrudgingly, motioning towards the bartender. “Two more, add her tab to mine.” It was then he dropped several galleons down on the sticky tavern bar. The Bartender’s eyes darted back and forth befuddled between his two patrons but decidedly followed Amadeus’s instructions.

“So what brings a bright pup like yourself to such a dreary place? No offense, but you don’t really look like the usual clientele,” he teased, the satiric edge to his voice waning slightly.

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Ordinary. Normal. Nothing. The desire to be ordinary tugged at the deepest strings of desire in Eva’s heart. The ability to melt into the shadows of the world as a nameless face captured her mind. What had possessed her to attend such an establishment escaped her. Her difference glared at her through the faces of the misfits of the world. They huddled, suspended between two worlds, in this dirty bar hoping to gain some semblance of acceptance. Oh, if they had each other they had everything, right? Her abomination of being was cruelly reflected back at her in the dark, cynical eyes of the vampire. Hands shaking a little, she bit back a little surge of anger. Oh, as if he was any better than her. The blood in his veins lay sluggish, congealing, and his heart had forgotten to beat. So, his type dipped their fangs into the body of other beings. She clasped her hands tightly at the first words in response to her invitation for conversation. “There’s nothing funny about me,” she said evenly, resenting being called a comedian. Humour rarely found its way into her existence. Politeness governed most of her conversations. Beneath that, Eva was rather heavy of nature. Due to her self-chosen isolation, she rarely spoke with others outside of a strictly professional capacity. Comedian. She resisted the urge to sneer. What a terrible insult such a comment was. Nobody took such people seriously. Eva believed that she was certainly a person to take seriously. However much she regretted the attempt at conversation now, Eva grudgingly moved over to sit in closer proximity to the lifeless man. She had never met a vampire before, but now it certainly gave her chills. Perhaps it was not that he was a vampire. Her eyes darted over his slicked hair, down his refined face and took in a little of his presence. Oh, he knew how to play people. They, perhaps, danced on strings for him. Mere mortals had to celebrate his power in the only rational way – through fear. Perhaps it was instinct that told her these things. The beast inside her knew more than the demure human. It shifted restlessly, as though it held a remnant of the animosity that the two species held. The unshakeable dislike curled its way through her body, and then rested heavily upon her heart. Well, he was polite enough. Her wary eyes followed his movements as he placed two coins down on the table. She took the drinks as a sign of tense peace between them. The knot of dislike loosened a little, as her rational and very human mind, made a convincing case that he could not possibly be too bad. Anyway, it was uncouth to judge a person so quickly. A quick intake of breath allowed her to calm a little. “I could ask you the same question,” she replied quickly. Although he was a vampire, he was too well kept for a place such as this. She smiled wryly at the thought of her being a bright pup. Well, she supposed, next to him, most creatures that crawled this tavern were infants of some sort. “I came here looking for some answers, but I don’t suppose I will find them here. No matter. However, it’s rude to ask such intimate questions so quickly.”

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"Rude," he repeated like the word were a foreign and ancient sediment to his tongue, it’s flavor peculiar and exotic as it rolled over acute tastebuds like an aged wine. The concept of discretion, more often than not, seemed to slip away like the sands of time from his numbed grasp. In some ways Amadeus was ignorant despite his age, forgetting that once upon a time these little nuances of refinement were also important to him. And yet, almost out of force of habit rather than sincerity, he bowed his head apologetically. "I assume the answers you search for are of grave significance for it to be such a sensitive subject. For that, I am sorry. Your business is none of my own."

He raised his head again and took the time to study the Lycan’s features, noting that they were alternately much more feline in semblance, to which Amadeus was honestly partial to. Her heart-shaped face and piercingly fair almond-shaped eyes lent themselves to a most elegant portrait. Years ago she had been the kind of woman to catch his fancy: strong, graceful, serious, and aloof to the point of mystification. Most importantly, she was far more intelligent and wise beyond her years, and certainly more shrewd than a human Amadeus had been. A human Amadeus would have stammered his way through this conversation and likely spilled his drink down her blouse at some point. Perhaps she would have preferred you that way, he couldn’t help but to think drolly, his senses picking up on the minutiae of her mannerisms. However, Amadeus was not the man he had once been, for better and often times for the worst.

"But you may ask the same question and I’ll answer it all the same despite the context. I am an open book. When your humanity is stripped away and you become a monster, things like privacy seem to lose their meaning. I would have thought you would understand or... perhaps shared those sentiments," he offered a simper, eyes briefly meeting hers, and daubed out the glowing embers of his cigarette. There was an acridity to his tone however subtle it might have been. Even now his death filled the beast with a seething sense of resentment. "And since you're so curious, I will explain why I am here. I have nothing to hide."

Wetting his palate first, he arched his back and poised to face the younger supe, "I spend my day, quite literally, surrounded by prey. Think of when you turn, if you remember, I don't know- Granted your type doesn't remember much from their full moons but just imagine you do for a second. Whether I like it or not, that is what every person I've known in this dreadfully long existence is. They're a meal. My supervisor? Likely delicious albeit his blood would be a tad bit too thin for my tastes I think. I walk on the street and all I can think about and smell how succulent every pubescent young witch or muggle and wonder how they would taste. The young ones are always the best. Needless to say, that instinct is constantly nagging. Sure, you can buy blood. There are ways to do it, to survive and not live, but it's never quite the same as it coming straight from the vein. It's like a salad- you're still ravenous even after you've finished." 

Amadeus pauses and makes it a point to look around the bar, dark eyes reflective of his torment.

"And I come in here and it stinks. It literally smells like shit, and pardon me for swearing, especially in front of a lady, but it's wonderful. Even if it's for a few hours out of the evening I can have peace of mind. If sitting at a shitty bar is what it takes to live some semblance of a normal productive life, then I can suffer through it. Now I suppose you'll tell me it's rude to give such intimate answers," he finished teasingly.