Mark came into the bar, and sat down on a stool. It was a long day of thinking about Julie, and was feeling pretty sad. So, he had gone to drink his sadness away. "Excuse me? Could you get me a drink? Could you make it strong? I don't want to think about her anymore." He said, his head resting in his hands.

He could still hear her voice, and see her hair. He wanted to be able to go home to their apartment, and for her to be sitting in the study, reading some model magazine, and to see her smile when he walks in. But then he remembered that she wasn't at home. She was with her parents. In france.

The waitress brought him some murky drink, which he started to drink. He wasn't paying attention to what it tasted like. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of Julie.

After a strange encounter in London's West End with Mister Malvivicus, Dazmond was headed back home on foot.  In no particular hurry, she made her way through the busy Muggle streets, disengaged from their reality. 

Distracted with thoughts of her coming visit with Nate, which had been several months in the works, she was feeling somewhat distraught and misanthropic.  It wasn't an exaggeration.  With her husband in the clink, her friends distant and somewhat at odds, her regular business in a bare-threads state, and her livelihood determined by the very unusual and vivacious crime lord, Kronos Malvivicus, she was feeling pretty down and out. 

Going home to an empty flat was, as usual, strange and depressing.  So as she was passing through the Leaky Cauldron, she randomly plopped herself down at the bar.

"Fire whiskey," she said, hardly looking up.  Her attention was briefly snagged by the Wizard sitting next to her.  A second look and she recognized him from the Werewolf fight last month. 

"Hey," she said, the tone suggesting she knew him somehow.

     

As Mark finished his first drink, he looked over to Daz. Sadly, he was so drunk at the werewolf fights that he didn't remember a thing. Mark smiled a closed lip smile, and muttered a quick, "Hi." He couldn't stand to look at the lady, her appearance reminding him so much of Julie. He raised a finger, and the bartender came over, pouring him another drink.

Mark rubbed his temples, before looking back over at the stranger, a single question picking at him mercilessly. "I'm sorry, this is really random, but I've gotta ask. Why do girls always break my heart?" He sat up a little straighter. "I'm a nice guy. I don't cause trouble. I'm faithful, and I always respect people! But why is my heart always broken, while assholes hearts stay intact? I have to fight for girls. I have to really try hard to get girls, and these, these, assholes just get to pick who they want. Why is that?" He asked.

The bartender slid her drink over, and the glass was full of ice.  What was this 'on the rocks' bollocks?  This wasn't the Black Chimaera, Daz thought, most Witches liked their firewhiskey ruined with ice.  She blinked at it, too bothered to send it back.  There was a time not very long ago when she wouldn't have had it at all.  Right now though, shoulders slumped in partial defeat, drinking alone at the Leaky Cauldron, she just slid it toward her and started drinking before the ice could melt.

Quirking a brow at the man, she was caught off guard that he was asking her advice... on women, no less.

Dazmond pulled back slightly from the bar, looking him over as though sizing him up.  Her gaze was scrutinous but she had to admit it was a pleasant distraction from her own troubles. 

"Witches don't always like kind treatment all the time," said Daz.  "She wants to be respected.  Treated as an equal means treated as an equal, not a treasured pet.  You should try not caring what you think she wants or needs and be yourself.  Witches like that."  She turned forward again, taking another drink of her firewhiskey and sucking irreverently on an ice cube. 

Nate was like that.  Sigh.

"Dude, when I said on the rocks I didn't mean gravel!"

"That's a dwarvish drink," the bartender said. "Sorry." He reached for it back.

"Nuh-uh it's mine!" Dotty squealed, drawing the glass close to her.

"You probably won't be able to digest it. You sure you want to drink that?"

"Look here Mr. Randy Philips," Dotty began, shaky hand rattling the gravel drink like a maraca, "I have sat through Matlock marathons and cut off a guy's leg when he forced me to build puzzles in his basement, so I know how many pancakes fit into a doghouse. Doghouses don't fly, not even that little red one with the white beagle." She tossed the drink back into her mouth and tasted...

...hair.

Hers, in fact, the sparkly purple bang next to the glow in the dark green one. Anadotti Squiggs was not gunning a drink of non-Fruity Pebbles with fictional bartenders as she believed. When she came to she was actually sprawled out in the alley with a lock of her hair in her mouth and a splitting headache. Motion of her extremities knocked over some empty bottles. Blue Toad.

Dotty was totally blank as to how she had scored a full case of Blue Toad but she would do anything to get her favorite drink over here, side effects of vivid hallucinations and hangover be damned. Even though she was liquored up the stickiness of Blue Toad and her hair was scratching the back of her throat so much she wanted a new drink.

Luckily, there was the Leaky. If the door would stay in the same damn spot so she could get past the shaved bird guarding it with a spear.

Out of all the purple people inside, one wasn't and she recognized her right away. "Hey Daz! Daz. Daaaaaaazz." A moment's finagling got both her knees on the spinning mushroom. She slapped the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Something pink!"

Next item on the agenda was the continued plan of destroying owls from the inside out. After Dotty had her drink that she couldn't pay for. "Heeey Daz, whose the freshie?"

The other dude inexplicably smelled like soap. Or dryer lint.

"I just always want to be a good boyfriend. To give her what she wants and to, I don't know, make her want to stay with me." Mark rubbed the back of his head. "Sometimes, I just don't feel like I'm worthy to be her boyfriend. Or, well, to have been her boyfriend." He explained. It was true. Sometimes, he really didn't feel worthy of Julie. Like he was the luckiest guy in the world, and like everyone could see that.

"I mean, what if myself isn't good enough? I'm so weird, and geeky." He shook his head and finished his drink, motioning for another one. "I just don't understand. I mean, James, James always stole my girlfriends. Like it was his job or something. And Mack didn't help either, to be fair. He always bothered my relationships." Mark was really just talking to himself at this point. It no longer mattered if Daz was listening. He just needed to hear it for himself.

Suddenly, a very dazed and drunken witch appeared beside them, calling him a freshie. What the hell was a freshie? "I'm Mark, by the way. Mark Hunter." He gave a little wave, as the bartender brought over his drink.

[So sorry for the delay!  Let's do this!]

Dazmond sat with poor posture, her bony elbows resting on the polished bar.  Her eyes were glazed over as she moved the square piece of ice round and round in her mouth, half listening to this fellow drone on about his past relationships and woes.  She was content to let the sound of his voice lull her into some absent state of mind, were it not for how weak and dejected it all sounded.

"Mate," she said, a tinge exasperated with her voice muffled by the ice.  But before she could tell him everything he was doing wrong with his life, a grungy Dotti took up the bar stool beside her.  Startled, Dazmond spat her ice out.  It slid over the bar and landed with a thud on the floor.  Oops.

"Ey," she said, pleased with her company.  Should that have alarmed her?

She looked over at the man for confirmation of his identity.  She was sure by now he'd been that stumbling drunk at the werewolf fight last month.  Probably didn't remember a lick of it.  What was his story?

"Well Mark Hunter, sounds to me like you need to take a stand for yourself in the world, learn it's everybody for their own.  Eh, Dotti?  Oh you've got a bug in your hair...."

"Ice hockey? Damnit I forgot my stick," Dotty said of the curling ice cube. She forgot what she had wanted to say to Daz as something that looked like holiday pink raspberry ginger ale was served to her. Dotty shuffled to get all of her hands and feet on the stool, slowly rotating widdershins. Winter shins. That what her shins felt like from sleeping in an alleyway in December.

"What are you hunting marks for? Did somebody upend your stamp collection?" There was a private giggle where Dotty's laugh at her own hilarity hissed through her teeth.

"What Daz said, stamp boy. My folks never thought I would amount to anything." She obviously had proved them wrong by still living if they thought she was dead. Although Dotty didn't like what Daz called her. She could just hear her name being pronounced wrong.

"A bug?" She scratched at her hair and found a centipede between her sparkly purple and glow-in-the-dark green bangs. "Millepedes weren't part of the hairdo. Like my new style Daz?" Dotty asked without much fuss to there having been a creepy crawly in her hair as she flicked the billionpede down the counter towards Mark.

Mark moved back as the bug landed dangerously near his glass. He scrunched his face. He hated bugs of all kinds. Mark picked up his glass, drinking it. He was already starting to feel the effects of it. "I know, I'm all alone, everyone on their own, blah blah blah, I've heard it before." He said, as he raised his hands. "Why do I even try anymore if I know I'm just going to get my heart broken again and again, and again? It's not even worth it. I mean, I do everything, I'm caring and nice, and I always provide. I protect, and I'm a nice guy. But you screw up once, once, and you're done! Done completely!"

He put his hands down, and cradled his head in them. "Without her, I'm nothing. At all."

Daz's gaze flitted over Anadotti, lingering a little as she shamelessly gave thought to the Witch's squirrelly behaviours.  She was not in the least bit concerned about the trajectory of the millipede as it flew past her face towards Mark.  She took that moment to appraise Dotty's hair. 

"I do!  It's blindingly brilliant, love," she decided, emphasizing her britishness all in good fun while holding up her glass in a mock toast to Dotty's electric hairdo.  She downed the rest of her firewhiskey in celebration and rapped on the bar top immediately afterward.  "More please!  Less ice, more straw.  And could you make the glass just twice as tall and thrice as wide?"  The man on the other side of the bar seemed to think that was not a wise decision, and gave her a look like he was pointing out her size.  "Oh what!  I'm Dazmond Wiedman, thanks!"

She cast off from the bar and spun round in circles on her stool, fixing her scrupulous gaze as much she could on Mark.

"Mate, you're better off without her.  Honestly!  You just need to... forget."  Daz stopped herself and let her vision settle, swirling with the room.  "Nothing can eat you up worse than love if you let it."

She slid the giant vat of unfiltered firewhiskey towards herself, cradling it with both hands and sucking it up through a thick orange straw.  "I know what you need," she said as steam blew out her ears.  "You need the thrills and rushes that only petty acts of crime can inspire.  You need to get in a fight or steal something valuable that can only be traded at a bazaar.  I mean live a little... Stamps," she giggled at the nickname.   

He found his emotions becoming more and more extreme, spinning into an utter sadness. She was Julie. Julie! How could he have left her like he did? She wasn't worth him, not one percent of him. He felt tears start to cloud his vision, as he thought to Julie. She was his everything.

"Mate, you're better off without her.  Honestly!  You just need to... forget....Nothing can eat you up worse than love if you let it."

"Love is the only thing I have to give!" He shouted, as he put his face in his arms. he felt one tear slide down his cheek. Was, was he crying? He just missed her so much. He wanted her back, so she could cuddle with him at night. That she could be all curious about his potions, and he could answer her questions.

"I know what you need... You need the thrills and rushes that only petty acts of crime can inspire.  You need to get in a fight or steal something valuable that can only be traded at a bazaar.  I mean live a little... Stamps,"

He looked up at her, a frown on his face. "I'm too scared. What if I get arrested? What if I screw up? What if Julie finds out, and never talks to me again?" He explained.

Dotty gulped down her remaining drink as well. The amount she was consuming this close to a previous binge of Blue Toad were getting her more sloshed than melting snow in a milkshake blender.

"Yessh!" Dotty slurred, spurred on by Daz's talk of activities on the prowl. "Yeah, Stampsy, got give a rip and jusht..."

Why was the floor covered with snakes? Oh, wait, Blue Toad at work.

"Yur notz supposed to get arreshted," Dotty said, lying out over the bar with her upper torso. "I'havn't been caught. Itsh eashy. You just run away and..." She brought her hands together, kneading as if she was getting all the newsprint out of a wad of putty. "Pop and boof, yer gone. They can't find you! Jusht do that."