“Another dragon’s blood!” Corby called over the music to the pretty brunette witch behind the well-stocked bar. The wrocker had already consumed about six drinks in the couple hours he’d been at the club and was finally starting to feel a bit of a kick. Calaveras, always the fun time, didn’t disappoint. Usually this late in the season Three Owl Standard would be booked solid, but by a streak of pure luck, their gig had been cancelled for the evening and Corby found himself with a night of freedom.

Instead of spending it alone on his couch, nursing a bottle of whiskey (or two), Corby decided he’d take a night on the town and maybe pick up a babe (or two). He showered, threw on some clothes and headed out for the night. He’d already had a couple snogging sessions with some pretty brunettes, but everyone knew that blondes were the wrock star’s forte.

Waiting for his drink, Corby looked around the crowded club, and was on the verge of giving up for the evening. The late night crowd wasn’t yielding any fruit and Corby wasn’t about to take home a troll. Going back to the small flat was akin to banging the queen, and not just anyone got that pleasure. Drink in hand, the wizard started for the exit, ready to take a quick break outside and smoke a bit of the gills. He’d return for one more scope before calling the night a flop and visiting one of the contacts in his little black book.

Then, about thirty feet from the door, Corby saw her. The face was familiar, but not in that ‘hey-I-just-boinked-you’ kind of way, because he’d be damn sure to remember anything that fine. “Hey girl,” he said, sliding up behind her for a dance, “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Magnolia Nettlebottom was a night owl, if she could stand the taste of blood lollipops some might even wager she was a vampire. She was not, but it suited the band image - with a name like the Knockturnals they had selling points and the gossip helped. In reality she spent her days either hung over from the previous nights gig or on writing benders. Songs were, currently, her drug of choice. She dabbled with lots of things, but there was nothing like the high of being able to finish a song and seeing that spark of 'this is a keeper' in her bandmates' eyes. The last week she'd been shut away in their rehearsal space and hardly stopped long enough to eat, shower, or change her clothes. When creativity struck she had found it was best to mine the vein dry on the off chance another spark never came again.

As always her fevered writing wound down and she was left starved for companionship. Iggy was with the girlfriend (presumably, it wasn't like Nola to keep tabs), and well... she just didn't have many other options to fall back on. Calavera's wasn't her usual stomping grounds, it always felt so upscale and blues-y. She was more of a Knockturn dive-girl by reputation. Still, it never hurt to be seen in the right places. It seemed some of the Witch Weekly staff all but lived on the floor of the nightclub in the hopes of catching famous faces doing scandalous things. Wizarding fame was a strange creature, one that she was not entirely sure about courting, but someone had told her once there was no such thing as bad publicity.

Checking her battered leather jacket she smoothed the lines of a dress that was a little too tight and a little too short, long blonde hair pulled over one shoulder aglow in the low candle light. She hadn't been near the dance floor for more than forty seconds when a familiar voice sounded near her ear and a body found itself pressed close to her very personal space. Glancing over her shoulder she raised a pale eyebrow, red lips twitched upward with a smirk, "You know someone once told me never meet your Idols. I never completely understood why until this very moment," she snagged his drink then and moved further onto the floor, pulling the Wrock star behind her, "Explain something to me Corby, the last name Gent? Are you going for full on irony or is it just one of those weird events of happenstance"?

The lady knew him, obviously. It wasn’t the name; everyone that was anyone knew Corby’s name, it was the way she said it. This was someone he obviously should know, but for all his trying, the name eluded him. Perhaps it was the buzz from the alcohol… or maybe it was the buzz from the gillyweed… hell, it coulda been any number of things, but no matter how hard he tried to push through the fog in his brain, he simply couldn’t place where this woman was from. He felt it best to just play it off until he figured out who she really was.

He mumbled halfheartedly as the witch stole his drink and proceeded to pulling him unto the floor. He wasn’t used to women taking control like that. Usually they were putty in his hands, he had to literally ask them to do things. This was a change of pace, and Corby couldn’t help but admit that it wasn’t totally unwelcome. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be a wasted evening after all…

Snapping back to reality, he brought his face close to her ear, scruffled chin close enough to scrape across the lobe of her ear.  His breath came out strong, filled with the mixed smell of alcohol and smoke. “Babe, you using all those ten galleon words is making my brain hurt. You know I quit before graduation, right? The only thing I see happening is your stance baby, and it’s pretty smokin’,” Alright, so maybe it wasn’t Corby’s best pick up line, but hell, he was Corby Effing Gent! Just the sound of his gruff voice should be enough.

He was so wasted, he had no idea who she was, he wasn't even together enough to realize she knew he had no idea who she was. The thing about Magnolia was, when it came right down to it, she was a firm believer asking forgiveness rather than asking permission. If she hadn't had such a no holds bar attitude she'd have still been knocking on doors trying to get demos heard instead of having Dolly St. James as her to play at some frou frou New Year's Eve Gala. The woman had practically begged her to auction off a date night, it was surreal sometimes but Nola figured if she kept acting like she knew what she was doing then eventually she would know what she was doing. In actuality it was a plan that had served her very well thus far.

His voice was close to her ear then, and for a moment her heart stopped - until he spoiled it all with the worst possible line in the history of cheesy failed pickup lines. She literally groaned aloud and tipped her head back to look at him, blue eyes brightly amused but no where near turned on, "You have been famous too long if that is the best game you have to offer Corb. I have had fifteen year old girls come at me with more skill," she sounded genuinely amused as she drained what was left in his glass and dropped in on the tray of a passing server. "You may not have graduated but even you should have gotten far enough along in Hogwarts to know a rising star Ravenclaw needs more than some stubble and gilly-weed-whiskey-breath to push the right buttons".

rated [M] for language…
Gears whirled ‘round and ‘round in the bassist’s head, matching faces with names as fast as possible, throwing aside the useless ones and keeping the near-misses, just in case one of those was the woman standing before him, with her wicked whip of words. Then, like fitting the last piece of a puzzle into place, it clicked. Magnolia Nettlebottom, of Nolia and the Nocturnals. Oh fuck, he’d been laying it on thick with one of the most famous witches of this generation and she’d called him out on it… more than once.

There were two options here, he could either backpedal, beg for forgiveness and completely lose face to one of the sexiest women in London, or he could pretend that he had been pretending. Yeah, because that totally made more sense in his head. “’Course you have, Nolia. They’re coming out younger and younger these days,” Though if she was a lady-lover, he supposed that made sense as to why she’d spurned his advances so many times.

“This doesn’t seem your usual place,” He said, with only the slightest slur to his words, “what brings you out here?”

Magnolia rolled her eyes a little and just shook her head at him. He was slow on the uptake but he'd gotten there eventually. It was actually extremely funny to her, in a not-really-that-funny sort of way. Still, it was a salvageable attempt at flattery, and she couldn't help the grin that twitched on her lips, "Alternately you've just been famous so long that fifteen year old girls have more swagger than you. That's the option I'm leaning toward because you are looking like a hot mess tonight". She had idolized the boys in 3OS at Hogwarts. They were her first real taste of what music could be, what it could mean. In the grand scheme of things Corby Gent might not have been that much older than her but when it came to the realm of music he was an Icon and she was a fledgling. 3OS had more than proved they had staying power while the Knockturnals were still finding their footing.

Still, she liked a challenge and he wasn't exactly bringing his sober a-game that might have intimidated her otherwise. She arched an eyebrow at his assumption about Calavera's. It wasn't that he was wrong, it really wasn't the sort of place she chose to often frequent. It was more that he presumed to know anything about her; especially while he was wasted. She loved her dives, sure, but sometimes a woman just wanted to put on a killer dress and turn heads - without having to worry about also being able to draw her wand to defend herself. "I'd say given your current state you're the one that's out of place. This is a classy joint Gent, for classy lads and lassies. I don't think you could find your arse with both hands if your life depended on it right now". She finally turned to face him, sliding slender arms around his neck, "it never hurts to put in a little face time with the paparazzi, and everyone knows this place swarms with them; even if they're mostly here for that walking pair of tits called St. James".