#drinks for two

For almost a fortnight, Paxton Wolfe found herself holed up in the Three Broomsticks for hours on end, waiting as the time slowly ticked towards midnight. It had become routine for her, waiting until it was late to go back to Warren's flat, sleep for a few hours, and then wake and leave for the school. The first week had been difficult, with little to no sleep as she tossed and turned on the couch, but it was easy to push aside the tired haze that followed her. 

And up until tonight, she'd been doing fine. Warren was asleep when she returned, and he was asleep when she left. It was better that way -- after what had happened before. Her brain had gone on over drive, pressing itself in on all sides as it tried to remember the night of the New Year's dance. He said they kissed, and she believed him, but she couldn't remember it to say her life. He said they kissed a lot. And she believed him.

"Another, please." She mumbled, waving her hand in the direction of the bartender. Her glass was empty, again, but her mind was still running. The bartender was used to her late nights at the counter, and said nothing as he poured her another one. If anything, she could probably rent her old room for one more night. Maybe. 

Paxton couldn't even say why she felt like avoiding Warren was inevitable. She didn't even think about it -- was it out of spite? No; even she had told him earlier to stop being sorry about what happened. So what, if they kissed? She probably liked it, considering she'd been harboring that stupid crush of hers for the past six years. So why exactly was she avoiding him?

Lifting her glass to her lips, Paxton frowned. Empty. 

"Can I have another?" She asked, pursing her lips in the direction of the bartender. She tipped her head in the bartender's direction, giving him a sloppy smile.

"Hun, you are gonna run me dry." He muttered, pouring her another glass. "Can you even pay for all of this?" He continued, waving his hand over the bottle.

"How much is it so far?"

"A little over a galleon." The bartender set the nearly-emptyed bottle on the counter, leaning on his elbows. 

"I have two. Stop me there." 

"Two galleon's worth of alcohol is pushing it, sweetheart," Paxton shrugged, taking a sip of her newly refilled glass. 

"What have I got to lose?" Again, Paxton shrugged, swirling the contents of her glass around. "My girlfriend broke up with me over something absolutely stupid, and my best friend tried to cheer me up. We got drunk and made out, and slept with him. Not like, slept but like, fell asleep in the same bed. And I avoided him. I don't even know what to think anymore."

Pausing to finish her drink, Paxton held the glass out for a refill, glancing at the bartender. "Second to last," The bartender stated, tipping the bottle forward. 

"Hrmph," Fishing the two galleons from her pocket, Paxton tossed them on the counter. "Finish me off, sir," She muttered, tipping the rest of the contents into her mouth. It burned her throat, but she trudged through it. 

"Last one," He muttered, emptying the bottle into her glass before pocketing the change. "Do you need a room?"

"No-- no, I'm good." 

Magnus predominately worked on late shifts at the bar, it tended to be a busy period and he was adept and seeing to all the orders within a short time frame, the faster you poured the drinks and the less time spent waiting the more money you could pull in. It was a way to let the stresses of the day and week unwind and to let loose although he did find it rather amusing the amount of people within their small town who were prudish and rarely let themselves loose – a shame really because some of them were ridiculously attractive.

He didn’t have a major circle of friends outside of work he normally kept to himself although he had a reputation he didn’t particularly care too much about such a thing, rumors always spread and if people believed everything they really were gullible.  There was someone he had found a certain affinity with, someone who had experienced quite a lot in her life and he empathized wholeheartedly – especially once the curse had been lifted, even now he kept an eye over his shoulder, those he owed would eventually come looking for him and currently he had no one to rely or use as protection and he let out a sigh before taking a long drag of his cigarette and pouring himself a glass of fine aged whiskey. And although he had Jasmine who was more than capable of looking after herself, he would never ask his friend to put herself in harm’s way or jeopardize her safety in any way.

Today he had arranged to meet up with Jasmine and he quickly glanced at the clock, before suddenly letting out a curse and downing the glass of whiskey and pulling on his leather jacket, his long legs thankfully having long strides which would as such mean he would make it admittedly a few minutes late, but there nonetheless and he sent her a quick text to let her know before grabbing his keys and wallet and glancing at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in a few days but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – he had always been told he looked sexier with the rugged look although when it became the start of a beard, that however was too much – and so locking his apartment he hurriedly walked the small distance and laughed in his usual trademark manner at the mock glare he was given.

Irene had, in fact, sent a car to Sebastian's place -- just as she'd promised. She gave the driver a card with the address to a nearby pub. The owner was one of her clients, and he was more than happy to rent the entire place out to her and Sebastian. Irene figured Sebastian would be more inclined to stay and chat if they were completely alone and without any possible threat. Since she'd proposed the idea of having drinks, she made sure to plan the meeting meticulously. 

Now was the waiting game... always one of Irene's least favorite games to play. She was on her first martini, sipping it delicately while typing him out a message on her blackberry: