7pm, "The Study" Billiards Hall. First floor.

CLOSED FOR BUSINESS
(shooting balls at the study)

---

"FUCK yes!"

The first story of the billiards hall was empty. It was a balcony level that overlooked the lower floors of The Study- one've the fancier spots on the alley - where wizards crowded 'round an oak bar or several of the many pool tables. Quiet night, considering that it was dinner hour, even for the shady folk at this end of town. Dietrich liked it this way.

Holding a flimsy pool cue in one hand and a tall bottle've of firewhiskey in the other, he was feeling kinda good tonight. The wizard thumped down his liquor on the edge of his billiards table, loudly, and the single olive glass lamp above shook a li'l. Same as the rest've the place, books lined the walls around him... some of 'em real, some of 'em not. Hard t'tell which was which.

A coupla the billiards balls had just sunk in to their pockets like the good ol' soldier they were. Dietrich grinned down toothily at the green, hand in his pocket as he studied the remainin' positions. Good as gold. He could take a li'l rest.

"Hey, Clarence. CLARENCE!" he barked out over the banister to the bar downstairs. A small witch popped her head over the counter and squinted up at him like a blinded ferret. "Yea, yea, I 'eard ye. Wot'd it be?"

The grin reappeared. "Chips, maybe a li'l gravy, if yer willing..." he leaned against the railing. The woman tossed her fair head back and cackled crudely b'fore she answered. "I can do ye chips luv," she disappeared to the rear of the bar and Dietrich turned his back, returning to the pool table. He sat down on the edge of it, putting down the cue pole and picking of his bottle again. Yeah. Pretty good night.

That song haunted him as he stalked the streets, unable to keep the loneliness from rising up in him like bile in the back of his throat. It fell over him like a black veil that complimented well his attire for his prowl. The long black duster brushed the backs of his calves while his boots struck the pavement, and with every day that passed he welcomed the change in the season. The cooler night allowed the use of scarves, layers to which he could hide, and the ability to better conceal the weapons he kept secret—that kept him sacred. You didn’t survive the fires without the burn, and though the ties from his past had been severed—one simply didn’t walk away from a caravan’s curse. You never took the seat with your back the door, nor the one furthest from the exit. One eye always watched the shadow, but when one was ever blind he made up for it by not sleeping at all. And when your sanity waxed and waned like the moon, there wasn’t much room for anything else.

Gale hadn’t meant to stumble on the Inkwell as he had, nor did he realize how much time had passed since his revival inside the artist’s chambers. Classes were picking up, and as the students were getting into the hang of the day to day, he loved every moment of it. Teaching was the one thing that kept him truly grounded, and this year was really starting to turn into something wonderful. His debates on the topics in his class were whispered about, and the students seemed a little more eager than they had before. It was easy to pretend that he had come from a different life, one less tempestuous, and one a little more civilized. His reputation was carefully guarded as was most of the Professors at Hogwarts, and when he slipped out this night Gale was much more careful to not be noticed. His attire was far from his normal free spirited nature, and threading further on the cold hearted assassin that had once dabbled in politics. (Oh the cursed saints of such a horrid profession that.)

Upon reading the sign, the CLOSED FOR BUSINESS was as clear as the complexion on the artist’s skin, but in the poor light Gale had to squint to better see the smaller print. Balls huh? He could do balls, he could do balls well especially after a bit of lubrication (from the alcohol of course), and made way for the Study just in time to hear the voices from inside.

’CLARENCE! The voice that boomed caused Gale’s hand to pause on the door, and he suddenly came back down. Fear swelled inside him, and seemed to snap him from his dark intent. For a moment he fought a war inside of whether to go in or leave. What was he even thinking? He didn’t belong here? Once upon a time he had, but now? He was a school teacher whose adventures only went as far as his readings would allow, but then again here he stood armed to the teeth; Hell even the hair tie to which held his pale white strands was made of a leather thick enough to choke a man.

What would he even say?

’Hey…How’s it going? I liked the way you were a dick to me, and figured we could hang out. You don’t put up with my bullshit, and I like that a lot. You don’t seem to cater to the crazy….oh and in case you think I’m coming on to you, I’m not. But the girl that you have working up front? Yeah I’d--

A hand came at his shoulder faster than Gale could have prepared for, a friendly gesture that pushed him inside, but one that startled him from his thoughts. Little hands and little fingers came up to grab the man’s wrist as they both crashed in through the door. With a twist the air left the man’s chest as he found the floor beneath them, and spring-loaded trap released a blade that came far too close for comfort.

“Ffffff-uck.” The man grumbled as he looked up at the white rabbit that had him, and cursed himself. No one ever expected such a fight to come from something rather small by standards of a normal man, but looks were always deceiving. In one hand Gale had him at blade’s edge, the other held his wand, but when the man caught his eye he started to laugh.

”Goodness, boy. Forgive me. You just looked like you were warin’ with yourself to either come in and ‘ave a drink or run with yer tail tucked beneath you. I meant nothin’ by it.” Gale took a step back, and shook his head as he visibly relaxed.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke now to the thinly occupied room, and his eyes landing on Dietrich, “I was just startled.” With a tap of his wand the blade disappeared again, and he ran a hand over his face as a deep crimson flush started to stain his cheeks.

Maker, just kill me now.



 

Clarence had brought up a plate of hot chips and a sloppy li'l kiss before she'd gone back down to tend bar. Dietrich threw a chip up into the air, catching it in his mouth with a snap and then he'd watched her descend the side stairs- his eyes following the sway of her stout hips; the way the witch knew just how t'walk, to make the skin of her dress wrap around those cheeks like a quivering lover.

The wizard downed another gulp of firewhiskey. Fuck. Nights like these, a guy could really miss his girl... and he did miss her, wherever the hell Lana was now. Staring into space, he lifted the firewhiskey to his lips again but stopped at the sound of the main doors banging open.

A li'l early in the evenin' for a row. Dietrich turned away from the billiards green and leaned back against the railing overlooking the ground floor of the Study. Whaddaya know. Not a row after all. 'Least not the kind he was expectin' to see 'round these parts; that silvery head of hair couldn't have belonged to anyone else.

Kesali, just retreating from having pounced on some poor fella, was looking up at him now. The guy was blushing. Dietrich nodded in greeting and grinned at him- obviously amused by the display. No such thing as a quiet night.

"Y'looking for a game of pool, pasty face?" he called out with a hardy laugh. "I take it you've been past the Inkwell." This just weren't what he'd call the other man's natural atmosphere. Kesali looked more at home, as he'd probably put it, on the windswept hills across some midnight forest. Or in a coffin.

The distance was closed between them, Gale dodging glances as if they were made of fire, and finally when he slipped up the stairs to where the artist waited he removed his coat.

"Depends," He stated in a cold flat tone, though there was a bit of a smile in his voice, "You going to pick up my tab when I win?" Against the wall the sticks were lined, and he went about picking the right one. "Though, I suppose you are used to holding onto such little sticks with your ox hands hmm? That has to count for something."

Gale picked up the chalk, looking out over at Dietrich's entire bottle of firewhiskey and wondering where it was he could have put it all. One swig of that, and he himself threw up for weeks.

"Do you always drink alone in a bar, and play games with yourself? Or are we celebrating something?" Over the railing he studied the list of drinks, not certain where to start, or which one wouldn't make him look like a fool. A little smile passed over his lips as he leaned against the rail to place his order, "I did go by the Inkwell. Went looking for that little brunette number up front. Pretty little thing that."

The strange li'l frenchman was in top form tonight. Dietrich rolled up his shirt sleeves, sitting back against the billiards table as he grinned across at the other wizard- who'd gone straight to picking out a cue stick.

"If you can play the game, I'll play the drinks..." he grinned at the rest of the banter. It just wasn't a guy's night out if somebody didn't go outta their way to take a shot at his manhood- that this came from someone of Kesali's stature was, well, kinda hilarious. He set down his cue and picked up the firewhisky, cradling the bottle by its neck. A clouded, serious look came over him the moment the Inkwell was brought up; and then Lana. Fuck. Couldn't avoid thinking 'bout her tonight.

Dietrich knocked back another swig almost immediately and guzzled it down so quickly he'd hardly tasted the liquor. The bottle returned to the green with a firm thud, his expression wrinkled up like sum'un who'd tried to drink gasoline. Blue eyes squinted over disagreeably at Kesali.

"Nah. Ain't got nothing to celebrate. That... that pretty li'l thing ain't even around no more," his voice lowered into a slurred, almost tipsy snarl. No. He hadn't had nearly enough to drink for that. Dietrich blinked and his eyes cleared a li'l. He kept his hand on the liquor. "She just walked them pretty legs outta my life, y'know? Not that you'd have had much of a shot with her anyway but man..." an abrupt sneer: "Man. Ya think I'd be in a sorry dump like this if I had her t'go back home to?"

"Good, then get me something, I don't know what is good here. And I'd ask my fanclub down there, but I'm certain it would be poison." He pushed his little hands from the railing as he caught the feeling of the man's eyes on him from before, and grimaced. Really he should go formally apologize again, but he knew that what was truly bruised was the man's pride. Standing all of 5'7 (on a good day) Nightingale wasn't the tallest of men, he wasn't as firmly built as many others in this room, and his narrow waist often had him mistaken as a woman from behind. However, he grew up around thieves, and learned very quickly that being small had it's advantages.

With his attention turning back to Dietrich he watched the man move through a kaleidoscope of emotions, and felt his own heart hurt for the artist. He was in pain, despite trying to hide behind his whiskey, but Gale had to wonder if it wasn't just Lana he was missing. For weeks now he's pondered over this man, late at night wondering what it was he kept hidden. Why was it when he got so angry that one time did an accent come out that Dietrich otherwise tried to hide? Was he trying to hide? Or was it simply he wanted to forget?

Gale had half a mind to charm the bottle so that it wouldn't release it's content. Dietrich was going to leave him behind with how quickly he was drinking it. But he thought better of it, and closed the distance between them instead. Standing a bit close, Gale leaned his back against the table, and pouted his pale pink bottom lip sarcastically.

"So are you going to stand there and cry about it, or are you going to stack the balls?" With his arms crossed over his chest, the stick cradled there he moved his free hand to cover the bottle, and slip it from Dietrich's hands. Maker, please let me not make a fool of myself. He took a swig, and put his best face forward. But oh Gods that stuff tasted horrid. He needed a cocktail, and something with fruit...lots of fruit. He sucked in air through his teeth, squinted his face up like a sour orange, and his eyes started to water.

"So are you going to stand there and cry about it, or are you going to stack the balls?"

Dietrich raised his eyebrows almost drowsily but didn't complain as the other wizard pilfered his firewhisky. Might've been for the better, the way he was guzzling down that shit. 'the hell did he have ta mention Lana? Fuck, he didn't even want t'think about her anymore. There were a lotta things he could take sittin' down but how was it that a woman walkin' out of a man's life could knock him off his feet? He put it out of mind and ran his fingers through his hair, getting it out of the way.

Kesali was tryin' to down some of the liquor. Oh, Gods. That face. Dietrich snorted, laughing abruptly as he patted his apparent drinkin' buddy on the back.

"Ease off pasty face. That ain't yer poison, I don't think..." he stood, turning 'round to look down at the pool table- cue stick back in hand now that he didn't have his bottle t'careess. A quick, flick of a wand and the billiards balls shot out of their pockets: snapping back together in form with a series of loud clunks.

The light above 'em swayed precariously. Dietrich picked up the white starter ball, tossing it at Kesali. "Ya actually any good at the game? We play eight-ball 'ere. I'll take stripes if it's all the same t'ya," he turned to look over at the first floor railing t'see if the barhands were free. Clarence was, 'course. "Hey, CLARENCE. A coupla glasses've Kirchwasser, yea? Got us a li'l fay up 'ere..." he glanced back at Kesali and shot the man a cocky wink.

Gale coughed, though at first it looked as though he wasn’t going to be able to come back up for air. With his eyes watering and his face red he hissed words that were more enchanted than any spell a wizard could cast.

“Te bisterdon tumare anave…Melalo,”[1] The language a rich deep sound on his lips, far more fierce than the French he so eloquently spoke. His little mouth pulled in air through his teeth, and then he narrowed his good eye on the man as if to blame him for allowing such fire to pass over his tongue, “Baro ruv![2]” No. Wolf didn’t fit him, not like the bear. “Oie.” A sound that escaped him sounded like a prayer as he exhaled finally when the burning passed, seemed nothing in comparison to the way the man’s barrel chest expelled laughter.

Gale stopped a moment to admire it, the way the smile lit up his eyes, and melted away that rough exterior. The sadness still in the depths of, but at least now they smiled too. Much better. He thought to himself, catching the ball that was thrown his way and placing it on the green.

’Ya actually any good at the game? Gale wanted to snort as he chalked the end of his stick once more, and settled his glare over the brute once more. “Does a bear shit in the woods? Spent a lot of time in bars, son. I was just never old enough to drink.” In truth he was rather a challenge at the game, his naked blind eye would be a curse to many things, but when it came to calculating distance and destruction it was a wonder how the body made up for what it lacked in other terms. 

Hey, CLARENCE. Gale poised himself on the edge the table, refusing to allow Dietrich to see how far he had to reach, and waited before the man’s attention was on the barkeep to break the balls. He was rather pleased with the collision and wanted to make a comment at how good he really was with….balls. But figured that was a secret best kept--

Got us a li’l fay up ‘ere.. Gale wanted to choke, and he almost did. With a gasp he turned to face the back of the much taller man, and slipped into his shadow.

“Are you kidding me!? Don’t tell them that! I’ll be strung up by my toes.” He was already on the wrong side of a few rough looking gentleman, and in Dietrich’s shadow now he really looked…..pathetic.

“I can handle my drink just fine. It just caught me off guard. Gods, you big gorilla.” Long thin fingers trailed through the ends of his hair, catching it all on one side as a blush of anger rose up on his cheeks. It was a nervous habit, and a dead give away Gale was upset when he toyed with the end of his ponytail. “You can’t say things like that. I have a reputation to uphold. Children to look after. How would their parents feel? I’d be fired, and homeless.” Before he realized it he threw back another bit of the firewhiskey, and didn’t make such a face. “And I’m not. A fay you ole’ brute. And besides. Who are you to judge, when you are the one moping up here crying into your whiskey like some Johnny Cash song?”

1.	May your names be forgotten...Bear
2.	Big wolf!

What th-- did Kesali just call him son? Dietrich decided t'pretend it was a slip of the tongue; the kinda thing ya said if you'd been 'round kids for too long and forgot what it was like to drink with real people. He'd turned around to see the billiard balls going in separate directions, angles in favour of the solids. Not bad for a one-eyed git.

... who 'pparently didn't take kindly t'being called a fay.

"Sit yer butt cheeks down Kesali, ain't nobody here who even wants to touch yer toes much less string ya up by 'em," he grinned (mostly to himself) and braced the cue stick flat against the table. A thoughtful gaze swept across the green. Dietrich leaned forward, aligning himself with the tip and surface before striking the starter ball with a quick jerk. It struck against a fourteen, starting off a series of ricochets and sinking two stripes.

The wizard straightened, tilting his chin back to observe this. Decent shot. He glanced at Kesali, who was now one swallow closer t'the bottom of the liquor bottle but not looking any better for it.

"Y'worry too much. Gorillas like me, we can cry into our glasses with our... what didyacallit? Johnny song or whatever. Takes a real guy t'know what a woman can do t'him." Dietrich slipped a hand into his back pocket, pulling out a fresh gillyweed joint. "But ya don't see me drowning my sorrows 'bout the shit I'd get from a buncha stuffed shirt parents and their snotty kids...." he stuck the cig between his teeth and lit it in a flash.

"Wanna drag or is the whiskey doing ya in?"

Oh there it was, that warm fuzzy feeling of the booze that flooded his veins and clouded his mind. And round two was just placed out before them. Gale sank the the green solid, the six spinning in more than just the hole. It swirled in his silver eye until it vanished, and though only one went down the cue ended where Dietrich would have to bank off a solid if he planned to get it out. Sneaky little bastard that he was, and stretched up on his toes to make the shot he smiled,

“I have very clean and cute toes thank you very much. Or so I’m told. I have too much free time.” Meaning he spent too much time on his own, locked away in his tower at night wishing for a past that never should have been.

“I do worry too much, but I can’t help it. And I’m not drowning my sorrows in the shit I get from school. I rather like that. I get off on pain, mind you.” He sank his bottom on the edge of the pool table closest to the old brute, and smiled up at him.

“I appreciate it, but every time I smoke that I end up sleeping my way through the bar like some hooker, and wind up in some strange bed in the morning. I think I’ll stick with this,” He held up the newest drink, though eyeing the blunt. He hiccupped lightly and giggled. A little rose color lifted his cheeks as he edged Dietrich on.

“And I want to beat you at this game. Prove to you I’m good with balls.” Oh he could have curled up on the green right there and slept. “Maybe get ya to laugh a little again. Smile. Somethin’ you are so serious all the time.”

Clarence, the barlady, had come up with a coupla shots of Kirschwasser while they'd been talking- she left the glasses on one've the tables before leaving 'em... not without shooting Dietrich a skeptical look, indicating his taste in drinkin' buddies.

But hey, why the hell not drink with pasty face? If a man's gotta get piss drunk, don't matter the company he keeps. He picked up his shot and tossed it back as Kesali took a turn on the billiards table. "I rather like that," the other man was saying. "I get off on pain, mind you.”

Dietrich was circling the game, eyes switching from his opponent to the tricky spot he'd gotten in on the table. Fuck, no way 'round it. He'd have to sink at least one solid to pocket another striped. He stopped, sticking his cig back into the corner of his mouth as he snorted at the earlier comment.

"I know a few gals who get off on giving it," though he weren't too sure 'bout any of 'em being Kesali's taste. Or Kesali being theirs. Dietrich lifted his cue, angled the stick with deft precision and sent the billiard balls dancing against each other. A dark solid rolled in, a striped not far behind it.

He picked up the firewhiskey by its neck but didn't drink. Smile? Did they putt a li'l something into the shots? He wasn't serious. Gods, if this was serious he'd hate to see his frivolous side.

"G'luck trying ta beat me," Dietrich left the whiskey and drew the joint from his lips in a trail of smoke. "But I ain't dyin' to be cheered up here. Can't help it if ya bring out the worst in me Kesali..." he grinned, resting on the opposite corner of the table. "I'm all rainbows and fucking daisies when you ain't around."

In Gale’s state he would have hissed at Clarence had he seen the passive glance she gave him, and the questioning look. He would have straight out like a cat pulled his pale little lips back over his teeth and put her in her place. And later would have rectified the number one reason he didn’t drink.

“Meh. So long as they have a nice ass I’d fuck it.” He lied…partly, and sipped his shot first before finishing the thing with a little giggle over the back of his sleeve. Oh, how he loved that look of complex thought that crossed over the man’s brow when he was concentrating, and counted down the days until he could be beneath his hands.

Nightingale perched atop the table as he watched Dietrich further, watching the way he sat up his shot, and how darn attractive it was when he plucked the blunt from his lips.

Smile?

Yes. Smile. You big bear, flash that grin of yours. It’s beautiful and lights up the entire room. Makes you want to forget all the wrong in the world, and forget the past. Gale turned his attention to the stick in his hands twirling it as his feet dangled over the edge and chalked the tip while giving the room a glance over.

The music changed from the sad somber melody to a rather up tempo heavily drumming bit of enchantment, and Gale thought for a moment he could feel the silver bells around his ankles grow hot with the desire to chant along. Oh how he felt the wildness want to break from his chest like a dragon from his ribs, but all Gale could do was laugh. He threw his head back and laugh when Dietrich finally did have to sink one of his balls, before earning a point.

“Is that so? Too bad you don’t smell like flowers.” Like a cat he slipped from the table and poised his next strike to sink another pair…if he could only get it the damn thing to work. His limbs were heavy, and he missed the cue ball a few times before having a giggling fit.

’ Lächeln, Melalo, Wie Regenbogen und Blumen da?’[1] German this time, though it didn’t sound as rich on his tongue like the many other languages he spoke. It wasn’t one he needed very much, and the little bit he did know made him sound rather ignorant. But the room was spinning, and all color drained from his face. (what was left of it) Damn the spirits, he couldn’t handle his drink like he thought. He tried to prop himself back on the table again, but this time he failed and landed on his back on the floor.

” Le château, Melalo.. Le château?”[2] Gale made a pained face as he touched his hand to his chest, and soon started to laugh. He wanted to dance, he wanted to burst through those doors and find his way back again, but also this laying down thing? Seemed like a grand idea.

1.	Smile, Bear (Romani) Like rainbow and flowers.
2.	French: The castle..The castle?

Gods, the fey was drunk.

Or something like that... delirious more like, s'though he'd been sniffing paint fumes. Dietrich snorted as the newfound drinkin' buddy spared no courtesy in callin' him a bear. Not bad german for a pasty-face who wore fuckin' fairy bells 'round his ankles. A retort was ready on his tongue which, though softened by liquor, lost none of its coarseness.

But Kesali did the impossible just then and went paler than a silent snowfall.

It was almost funny when he dropped t'the floor- almost. Dietrich put down his whiskey with a weary thud, extending the tip of his cue stick towards Gale's babbling form. Hell. And in french too. He poked at the other wizard's ribcage and smirked.

"Ya ain't going back t'the castle on yer back," the artist had no desire to leave his... friend at the bar. Might've done for some but it weren't like Kesali had made the best fuckin' impression on the establishment. They'd rob him'n leave the gypsy out on the alley.

And, t'be fair, leaving him didn't seem like a smart way t'treat yer payin' customers.

"C'mon.." Dietrich nudged at Kesali with the cue stick again. "On yer feet or I'll have t'carry ya you crazy li'l bastard."

"I'm not supposed to drink." He half laughed half muttered rolling to his side. "You are getting me drunk roughass just to take advantage of me. Admit it."

When Dietrich poked his ribs the laughter that left him was damn near musical, childlike as it lit up his entire face through the torture that came with being tickled. And he swatted at the stick, but eventually used it to pull himself back up.

"Fucks with my blood." Gale lifted his patch to rub his eyes a moment, and swayed on his steps before squinting, "It's not all my blood. Not all from one place." Gods, the man had a nice expansive chest, and oh how he wanted to just crawl against it to lean in for support. Run his fingers back through those golden strands, and pull it a bit while....

"Where is my coat? I need to get home." He didn't feel well, not one bit. But by the time he gathered his coat, and reached the stars he slumped against the railing on the top plank and curled his coat to his chest; holding it like a pillow to bury his face into it and try his hardest to find the scent of the person it used to belong to.

"Make it stop." He spoke muffled through the wool of his coat, "In German. Say it in German."