10:00 PM
October 9


After working a particularly long shift, the healer felt like he deserved a chance to wind down, drink alcohol, and meet beautiful women. After work, he had cleaned himself up, and thrown on some nice dark robes and comfortable, yet nice shoes. Over the past month, he had grown out some of his facial hair, giving him a bit more of a rugged, handsome look as opposed to the fresh, youthful appearance that he had when clean-shaven.

Upon arriving at Calaveras, Flynn had two things in mind:
1. Find a beautiful woman
2. Buy her a drink.
Of course, he wouldn’t mind listening to good music and having a few drinks himself.

Flynn made his way closer to the stage, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who caught his attention. Tonight, something seemed off—tonight, something was different. Finally, he realized what it was. Sitting at her usual table, close to the stage, was the lovely Dolly St. James. Of course he knew of her—he saw her occasionally when he went out, and she was a rather well-known witch in general.  Usually, she had people at her table, but not today.

This gave the healer the self-assurance to approach her. Flynn took a slow breath, and a confident smile crept upon his face. It was now or never.

Flynn’s steps were quick, focused, and direct. Without further hesitation, he reached her table and leaned against it casually. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing here alone?” He asked. Flynn tried to sound suave and charming, but really his tone somehow managed to make him seem concerned about her well-being. Perhaps it was a habit from years of working at St. Mungos.

Dolly's life had become stagnant. With fall having settled in all around her, Dominik announcing he was going to be an utter twit and keep playing Qudditch and the fact they weren't currently speaking the leggy author had found herself falling into old habits. She went out, she drank, she dodged owls from her agent and Trollhouse, found excuses to try and steal more of Molly's time than could ever be considered fair or humane. She drug Darian places, posed for pictures, and laughed her too bight laugh. It was an easy routine, familiar but not fulfilling. Some part of her was hoping Elliott would show up on her doorstep one day, tell her she looked like hell, and they could set to work on finding an ending for the last book. Of course she hadn't heard from him since she left Paris. Good editors with a real understanding of how her process worked were impossible to find... and she was bored of trying.

She was bored of it all really; the fame, the money, the ego, the preening. She wanted something fresh and new, something untainted by ghosts of escapades past. So tonight she went to Calavera's alone. She wore a modest dress - even if it was sinfully red, and let her loose curls hang down her back in soft waves. Her makeup was impeccable but that was force of habit more than anything else. All in all she was not the glittering diamond she normally would have been on a night like tonight. Thus her mild surprise when a male voice inquired after her intentions for the evening. Shifting her blue eyes up a small smirk twitched on crimson lips as she slid a cigarette from a silver case and gave a one shouldered shrug, "Waiting for someone to try that tired line on me I suppose". Using the tip of a very pointy shoe she pushed one of the vacant chairs out toward him, eyebrow arched expectantly.

He wasn't her usual type, not flashy like Darian or brooding like Dominik. He was spry and scruffy, but different was something she had been craving. He was a baby-face to be sure, but not younger than her, closer to Dom's age. She was sure she had seen him before, but then she met so many people and drank so much whiskey it was a fairly common place occurrence in her life anymore. It was cute though, the was his smile was cocky but his voice tinted with concern. It was no small feat to approach the Dolly St. James (that wasn't her ego ballooning, it was simply a fact people reminded her of constantly at book signings). The men who usually tried were so terribly boring and merely infatuated with the fame monster. This sandy haired familiar-stranger seemed different so she'd take it easy on him for now.

To be honest, Flynn did not think he had a chance with a woman like Dolly. She was leggy, curvy, and all around gorgeous. He couldn’t deny that he was physically attracted to her. Just being this close to her was causing his heart to race a little faster than usual, being near her was giving him a mild adrenaline rush. The fact that she wasn’t quite as dressed up as she usually was, made her all the more beautiful to him. Flynn wondered what her face looked like without her characteristic red lipstick, without that small layer of classic makeup.

He raised his eyebrows at her quizzically when she offered him a seat. Was this really happening? Was the Dolly St. James offering him a seat? “I don’t see why anyone would wait to try that line on you.” Flynn replied. Despite being nervous, he did not allow it to show in his voice. He took the seat, giving her a half smile. “Red certainly suits you.” Red dress, red lipstick—even ‘dressed down,’ she knew how to attract attention. He had a feeling that his attention wasn’t entirely unwanted, hence the invitation to sit down with her.

“May I buy you a drink?” He asked, giving her yet another one of his goofy smiles. “My name’s Flynn Hughes.” He’d always had mixed feelings about his name. It sounded like the name of some sort of renegade rogue wizard in an adventure novel, or an undercover auror. To him, it only seemed like a name that fictional characters had. In some ways, he felt like the name didn’t suit him. Flynn also felt like his name was just simple enough to suit him in other ways.

Dolly considered Flynn over her dwindling glass of whiskey, smirk twitching on her lips. He was a little upstart wasn't he? There was a difference between a man who acted like he wasn't intimidated by her and those who knew they were but screwed up their courage anyway. The former liked to try and dominate the conversation, show that just because she made more in a week off royalties that they could be the boss. Dolly hated men like that, the insecure little snots wouldn't know what to do with a woman if they could get their foot in the door. Someone like Flynn though? There was the glimmer of mild astonishment behind his eyes as she offered the seat, he was moving forward despite any primal urges telling him to bolt in the opposite direction.

She was in need of a new distraction and he'd do nicely for the next bit at any rate. Grinning at him she brush a lock of hair hair from her face and gave a nonchalant shrug, "Haven't you heard Darling? I'm the worst kind of trouble a man can find himself with. I believe one gossip rag compared my dating habits do that of a Mantis, but instead of ripping off the head I tear out the heart," a bemused laugh trickled past her lips before she wrapped them around the cigarette she had extracted from it's case earlier and lit it with the tip of her wand, "Of course those could have just been terribly bitter grapes because I didn't bother to owl him again. The male ego is so very fragile don't you think"?

Pushing the silver case toward her new friend, she nodded toward one of the servers who promptly rushed over just as a long lean songbird in a black sequin number took the stage, "Firewhiskey, straight no chaser," exhaling a slow trail of smoke she crossed her legs and nodded toward the stage, "She's one of my favorites, Shiloh Hagen. Voice like Caramel, slow and sticky sweet. She specializes in the blues, are you a fan of the blues Mr. Hughes"? Dolly inspected him from under half lidded eyes, Shiloh's rich voice filling the club with a mournful tune about a lover who was a lover no more. If Dolly had ever been a fan-girl of anyone it was the singer currently on stage - not because she was well known, but because every note could make your body ache with longing for the things that were gone.

Worst kind of trouble? At the mere mention of trouble, Flynn’s eyes lit up. Of course. He loved trouble, or being around people who were trouble. They always provided the best entertainment for him, and oh, the juicy gossip. Flynn was quite the fan of gossip, and he was one of the absolute worst when it came to keeping secrets. He couldn’t even keep his own secrets, let alone someone else’s. The one exception was the confidentiality between him and his patients. His father still didn’t trust him with the secret information as to what his mother’s birthday present was going to be each and every year.

“I’m not opposed to trouble.” Flynn wiggled his eyebrows in what was supposed to be a suave, handsome manner—but it really just came off as goofy. He had always been attracted to women who were considered to be trouble. He remembered his first crush, back when he attended Hogwarts. It was a Gryffindor who had been four years above him, and she had not even realized that Flynn existed. Flynn couldn’t really blame Niobe, he had been such a dweeby looking thing[1]  during his first few years at Hogwarts. Now, she wrote for the Daily Prophet, and he was a healer.  “I promise, I won’t hold it against you if you rip out my heart and beat it with your latest book.”  He let out a hearty laugh, “Oh, I’d say my ego is fragile. It’d have to be. My mom’s a veela, and I don’t even have veela charm. Does that seem right to you?”

He closed his eyes and listened to the music, trying to decide whether or not he appreciated this musician. After a few seconds, he nodded and began to sway slightly to the beat. “I like all kinds of music. I can’t say I’m too picky, but I really enjoy this…” He waved his hand in her direction, “This Shiloh Hagen. So, I suppose you could say I like the blues.” He felt like he was rambling, but really, what was he going to say? Flynn couldn’t just sit here and bore Dolly with silence, talking to her was an absolute necessity. 

1.	Firstie Flynn

"I think everyone needs a little trouble in their lives, it's just a matter of how well they can keep up with the game," now that was something she hadn't said in a long time. Was that really how she felt about it again? Was it all a game, was she going to start keeping score to protect herself from the ache of how hollow everything was? Probably, it was her go to move after all, laugh louder, drink more, spark up some gillyweed now and again, never let anyone see you crack under the pressure. She was even back to writing Trishna about the vague misadventures she was having rather than telling him her big dark secrets. He wanted her to be happy so she didn't want to go disappointing him... besides he was probably shagging that vile Reid woman by now. His life would be much simpler with her living on the margins instead of inserting herself in the middle.

She smiled sweetly as the waitress brought her drink over, her eyes lingering on the dark skinned beauty crooning on the stage, "Veela charm is overrated. Call me crazy but living in the magical world can really sour a girl on love. One of the basic things they say we need to thrive back be charmed or bottled out of a cauldron. If I'm going to land a romantic other I think it's only fair the playing field be level... well as level as it can be, since women hold most of the cards anyway," her lips twitched with a smirk as she gave him a little wink. As it were Dolly was off love and relationships all together lately. Sure she had her little dalliance with Darian but they both knew it was nothing serious. He wasn't in love with her - Dolly didn't think he was actually capable of really loving anything. He went through relationships like she went through jewels.

Taking another slow drag from her cigarette, she leaned toward Hughes as she rested her chin in her hand, "So Flynn, besides lacking Veela charm and having extremely expressive eyebrows," her tone was a little teasing before she turned her head to blow a plume of smoke away from him, "what else can you tell me about yourself? You're not a society boy, they shave and I'd have dated you at least twice before now". Taking a sip from her glass she let her eyes sweep over his lean frame, head tilted to one side as she looked for clues has to what his occupation might be, "I want to say inventor, but they almost never bother with leaving their clandestine lairs to mingle with we of mere mortal intelligence. Apothecary maybe," she reached out and took one of his hands, "definitely something that requires deft fingers," she grinned a little, "Are you a Gentleman of the night Mr, Hughes"?

Flynn threw his hands up in the air in pure excitement. “Finally! Someone who agrees with me! Veela charm is so overrated.” He let out a theatrical groan, “Do you know how tough it is to find a reliable friend who doesn’t want to shag your mother?” Flynn inquired with a mock-exasperated tone.  “It’s bloody difficult, really.” Despite his dramatic manners and exaggerated body language, it was evident that he was not truly bitter about that situation. In fact, he found it to be quite amusing. When he was still a student, it had been a bit more difficult to deal with, but now he was almost proud of the fact that his mother was a veela. Hughes leaned ever so slightly towards Dolly—a sure sign that he was already fairly comfortable around her. Any nervousness that he had before approaching her had vanished.

“You speak like love is a game.” He shrugged, “If that’s the case, I have to admit…” He leaned forward as if he was about to tell her some sort of dark secret. “I’m shite at it. It’s not a game I’ve won—“ He brought a hand up to his chin thoughtfully, “I don’t plan on winning it either. Let me warn you now, Miss Dolly—I am not looking to settle down.”  That did not mean he went through relationships more than outfits, it simply meant that he was not ready to start a family and be an ‘adult’, whatever that meant. It would take someone incredible for him to settle down; the healer doubted that the incredible someone would be Dolly St. James.

What else could he tell her about himself? To be honest, he didn’t think there was much to say. He was a happy, baggage-free fellow with loving parents who raised him in a healthy environment. He had not experienced any serious traumas, nor had he ever really fallen in love. “Well, Dolly.” He said, as if they were old friends,  “If you’d seen me but a month ago, I would have been completely clean shaven. One of my coworkers told me to keep it that way, so of course I grew out facial hair.” Oh, he loved to go against whatever Vivienne said, though he took the opinions of most other women seriously when it came to mustaches, beards, and the like.

“I know I may look like a scruffy vagabond, but I’m actually healer at St. Mungos, on the Spell Damage floor.” He let out a small laugh, “I’d love to work with poisons, but alas—I end up a patient on that floor too frequently for it to be a good idea.” Flynn leaned back into his chair casually. "I could be a gentleman of the night, if you wanted me to." He gave her a small look of amusement. Really, this woman was quite the character. She was much more interesting than he'd expected.

“Your turn, beautiful. Tell me something about you that I probably don’t know.”

"All my boyfriends wanted to shag my mum and she wasn't a Veela," there was that teasingly amused tone again. It was true that her mother had been a stunner, still was by many standards but it had been the way she carried herself that swept so many a young lad away on the current of her charm. It had felt like she and Dolly had been in competition most of her life. That may have been the very thing that drove Dolly right into Dominik's arms in the first place - he found her mother rather deplorable. Raking her fingers through her hair she gave a vague shrug, "teenage boys. well into adulthood actually, are rather useless bags of hormones that are fairly easy to manipulate if you know which buttons to push". She wasn't even speaking strictly in terms of leading them down the love lane in life either. She may never have gotten Dominik to give her exactly what she wanted but she knew how to make him knee jerk react with her antics, it wasn't that hard even.

"If prostitution is the only profession in history then love is the oldest game, though more accurately described as a lie - but the lie is the game, no? Whoever can tell the biggest whopper and sucker you in for the longest wins the race, while the loser is left picking up the pieces of their life wondering what in Merlin's name went wrong," she didn't sound particularly bitter as she recounted her stance on love, if anything she sounded amused. Love was a game for suckers, and it'd taken her a fair bit to shake that out, but it would take a man of more magical metal than the one sitting in front of her to change her mind. "Trust me Darling, there is never any need to worry that this Miss Dolly St. James is going to want to make an honest man out of anyone, least of all after only one drink," the whole act was punctuated with a  wink and a nod as she sat back in her chair and once again her blue eyes zeroed in on the singer, now catching roses tossed on the stage by admirers.

Flynn's answers to her questions were amusing, a genuine smile twitching on her lips as she gave a nonplussed shrug, "We'll have to see where the night takes us Mr. Hughes, before we label you a suitable companion for the evening," if there was one thing about Dolly that had changed...she was more reluctant to crawl into bed with just anyone. Really, it had never been just anyone, it had been a select circle but the preconceived notion was that it had been just anyone when she was drunk enough. She hadn't ever bothered to correct people because it seemed trivial. She knew who she was and she had believed, at the time at least, that the most important people in her life knew who she was too. "Something about me that no one else knows? Merlin, the way gossips go through my garbage I wonder if there is anything about me the public doesn't know," buying her time with another sip of whiskey she cleared her throat, "Hmm, I suppose... I've broken off more arranged engagments than I have fingers or toes, how's that  for a fact"?

Flynn was surprised to find that the famous author had such a jaded sense of what love was—and what scared him was that not only did he understand it completely—he agreed with it wholeheartedly. “Hey, I’m not [/i]completely[/i] useless!” He commented, putting on a look of artificial offense. “I can do other things—I knit and play piano!” Flynn insisted, “And if the mood strikes me, I could even knit sweaters for pianos.” He realized that he probably sounded ridiculous—but he simply could not stop. He had a tendency to go off on strange tangents that only made sense if people followed them all the way through (and even then, they probably wouldn’t make sense either way.)

He let out another one of his hearty laughs when she answered his question. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. You deserve much more than…” he shuddered, “Arranged marriages. If my parents tried to organize one of those, I’d flee the country, only to come back sporting a fancy mustache and a fake identity.” Despite the fact that he had a joking tone, there was a bit to truth to it. Flynn was not a person who would take too kindly to someone trying to control his future. “My pets are enough of a commitment to me, and I chose to have them.”  Sometimes he wondered if choosing to have his cat, Mildred, was a good choice. He was half convinced that it wanted to kill him in his sleep.

“Psssh, Dolly. I’m more than just a ‘suitable’ companion for the evening.” He had already decided that he wasn’t going to expect sex from her, and if they spent the rest of the night together—well, he was simply going to tell her bad jokes and make up silly songs on the piano for her. Maybe knit her a lumpy sweater. “Just look at me. I’m handsome, employed, and I have a fantastic sense of humor if I do say so .” He winked. “How many quidditch players does it take to light a wand?” He waited only a few seconds, before delivering the punch line.

“Six to work their arses off, and a seeker to take the credit.” Really, it wasn’t that funny—but Flynn thought it was hilarious.

Dolly gave a small nod followed by a shoulder gesture that was sort of a shrug but not, "Things were different in our world back then. It makes me sound ancient but everyone was so worried about blood alliances and Heirs, I was basically breeding stock. It might not have been so bad but it was always chauvinistic bastards from Eastern Europe. I've always hated people telling me where my place is, especially if it's a boring place like someone's cowering housewife. I wanted a life bigger than that, eventually my parents tired of the humiliation of having a daughter they couldn't marry off and I ran away to see what the world had to offer me," she made it sound simple and vaguely romantic. It had been neither of those things, but she'd never been sorry. She hadn't even been sorry when her father cut her off and she had to make her money in less that reputable means. Dolly was, and always would be a survivor.

"Ah, a knitting music man, I've hear of you lot. Nothing but trouble, whipping up cozies and crooning the night away to entrap fair damsels. It's down right dastardly," she teased then knocked back the rest of her drink. She decided then and there she liked Flyyn. He was endearing, a bit like a wide eyed puppy, awkward but comfortable in his quirks. The thing so few men realized when dealing with women was that if you could get her to laugh you could get her to do just about anything. It was a well kept secret by the female population and it wasn't a code Dolly was about to break now. She did like that he wasn't so consumed with how things might look, with being seen as foolish. It took a brave man to tell such terrible jokes that she found herself leaning in and laughing along with him in spite of herself.

"Buy me another drink and we can move from wand jokes to limericks," she rested her chin in her hand, blue eyes zeroed in on him, lips twitching with another smile - not the generally glossy I'm smiling for everyone around me smile, but rather something genuine and private shared just between the two of them. "Tell me Flynn, for a man who is such a catch how did you find yourself alone tonight? Beyond the whole being a rover who wants no woman to call him her own," it was actually a genuine question. For someone who seemed so content with the world around them his stance on love seemed almost misplaced. Dolly knew where her belief it was all a lie came from, but she liked hearing the stories of how other people (especially those who seemed so happy) could become so hardened to the idea of happily ever after.

In a way, Flynn felt bad for Dolly—his family life had been pretty much perfect. He had two parents that loved and accepted him unconditionally, though they were frustrated that he had no intentions of providing them with grandchildren.  That was the only conflict they ever really had, and even then it was not a big deal. He knew that his family was unusual, with how simple and uncomplicated they were—but he truly felt lucky to have them, and to be raised by them, despite the fact they wanted him to settle down and find a nice partner to raise babies with. The idea of that was wholly undesirable to him.

“Oh, the ladies love it when I knit them some cozies and make the cozies sing.” He replied. Oh, Flynn hadn’t expected this of Dolly. He had thought perhaps she would be a rather snobby rich person, but instead she was a rather amusing, fun rich person. He could envision the two of them becoming friends, and wreaking havoc everywhere they went with a bottle of wine in each hand. However, part of him doubted that it would actually happen, but it was still a fun thought. “I could knit you an atrocious stuffed hippogriff sometime.” It wasn’t uncommon for him to knit up some stuffed animals with button eyes—and they were usually quite ugly.  Despite their lack in beauty, he took great pride in his ability to even make them vaguely resemble different creatures.

Alone. How did he find himself alone?

“Well..” He stated, “First of all, my cat’s too sassy to take with me, and Henry is too yappy.” Then there was a small bit of hesitation. He wasn’t sure why she was asking if he was single in general, or why he was alone in general. He figured the first one was more applicable; Flynn had his fair share of friends and acquaintances, and never viewed himself as a particularly lonely or alone type of fellow. “In all seriousness, Dolly, I’m alone because I want to be. It’s not that I don’t believe in love, my parents are so in love it’s disgusting.” Flynn let out one of his softer, gentler smiles.  “I’ve never been in love. Sure, I’ve fancied my fair share of ladies. I never wanted to commit, and I never envisioned spending the rest of my life with them.” Flynn shook his head.

“I’m happy with who I am, and that’s enough for me.” Flynn waved over a waiter, “I’d like some red currant rum, and…” He looked at Dolly, raising his eyebrows. No way was he ordering for her, but yes—he would buy her another drink. Although he wasn’t rich, Flynn was good at managing his money wisely, and lived quite comfortably.