Thursday night at Calavera's had become a habit of Dolly's[1] - which was strange in and of itself because she was not a creature of habit. Well she'd had one habit but that had been cut off ages ago and she didn't even think about him much anymore that was a total lie but it was a comforting lie so she was going with it. The band played, she drank, and sometimes she talked to people. When she didn't particularly want attention she would hide out in a private booth with an excellent view. This was the crunch time for her, she had deadlines to meet. Sometimes a girl just needed a little reprieve from the introspection writing the final in a series took.

So tonight she was at the bar (a change of pace), drinking Whiskey (straight no chaser), and scanning the crowd for anyone interesting. Thursday was not exactly A-game night, but the crowd wasn't bad. Mostly everyone was keeping to a party or themselves. Her interlude with the dreamy singer from the previous spring long since forgotten in the winter months. She still appreciated the way he sang the blues but she had needed a different speed. He was the matrimony sort and she never would be; no matter how much she joked about Darian being her first husband. There was no real spark there, no adventure. That was what she really wanted, the adventure of exploring someone new. It'd been a long time since she'd added anyone new to her rotation of pretty faces.

That was when she spotted him, dark and brooding - just familiar enough to be inviting. She leaned against the bar watching him with half lidded eyes, lips twitching with a small smile. He might not have been the kind of adventure she'd been pondering when she left her flat, but he was an adventure to be sure. The key with most men was in letting them think everything was their idea, that they were in complete control. It was a very intricate dance, it needed to be timed exactly to perfection. She was just working out how to get him to approach her when she felt a rough finger tap her bare shoulder, dark curls bouncing as she spun to face her company, smile growing in recgonition, "Well hello Stranger. I don't think I've seen you since you were pretending to be a Huntsman with a really bad perm. You've impeccable timing, I was just setting my sights on a conquest for the evening. Now you've scared him off, you should buy me a drink and tell me I'm gorgeous".

1.

wearing

All fire and sass, Miss Dolly St. James was memorable as ever, Rick saw as she beamed at him. Quick to remind a guy just who he was chatting up if, by some freak chance, he ever actually mistook her for anyone else, the thought was just enough to make Rick’s smile blinding and real– even if for only a quick heart-stopping second. “If the punishment fits the crime…” he mused, as eyes slid down the slope of her neck, and along the generous curve of her hip before snapping up to meet her gaze, “then I guess I’d better.”

The St. James had always been a blessed bunch, he remembered, and Charlotte’s cousin was no exception.

Doing just that, he did, and as the bartender moved away to fulfill the order Rick slid into the seat beside her, black slacks creasing around knees and thighs. His crisp white shirt had long since had its sleeves rolled up, in a way that implied it had been for quite a while. “But I’d hate to tell you what your mirror must’ve told you at least a hundred times by now,” he teased, as a glass slid into his hand. “Especially that night.”

“Sorry about your fish,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “If I’d known he scared so easily, I would’ve stayed away,” and he held out a hand. “Rick Donovan, artificer. S’ not as glamorous as writing, but…”

He shrugged; the shirt grew tight over his shoulders. “I’ve always been good with my hands,” and a smile unfurled, slow, hot and easy.

Dolly had a type, it wasn't always obvious because there where some serious out lying anomalies (like Darian and Tappy). It might have been a typical sort of type, the bad boy with dark skin and an almost predatory smile, but they were her favorite. There was something about a presumably bad man with just a little bit of devil to his eyes, she'd let herself get sucked in just about every time.

Maybe it was the surly deposition in the end, they were harder to make laugh and thus a bit more of a challenge. Games of cat and mouse were no fun if someone was overpowered right out of the gate. Whatever it was, as Rick took a seat beside her she couldn't help but notice he had a more distinct edge than her former interest of the evening, blue eyes taking swift notice of the crisp material of his shirt and the way it tightened across the expanse of his chest. Much sharper edge.

"Oh I don't know, it get so very tedious hearing the same thing every day from my magic mirror. The only reason I keep asking is the hope one day there will be a Snow White to dispose of and I might have a little excitement," she sounded distinctly amused at the notion, red lips twitching with a smile as her chin rested against the hell of her hand. He was a cheeky bastard! It was good though, made things more interesting.

"Oh I am perfectly aware of who you are Darling. Your, ah, reputation with your hands precedes you, greatly," traveling in a circle like Dolly's afforded her the ability of knowing people without ever having met them. The Wizarding World was not so large in the end. Someone always knew someone who was a cousin of someone else. In this particular case it was her own cousin Charlotte.

Though the two didn't often discuss men, it was no secret she'd had her time with the very handsome man to Dolly's side. Dolly could see the appeal as she gratefully took a fresh drink from the bartender, "Thank you, by the way. I'd hate to seem rude, even if you did scare away my dinner," her Cheshire Cat grin was bright as she bit down on her nail, shoulders rising in a contented shrug before she took a healthy sip from her glass. Maybe she'd have Odette meet a bad man in a bar in her next chapter, be a good way to kill her off.

His chest did not puff out even a little bit as her gaze roved over him appreciatively, but never let it be said the temptation wasn’t there. Pleased, Rick took a drink; the move did little to hide a quick little smirk that was all heat and edges compared to before. “Should I be worried?” Rick said slyly, trying for an innocent look and failing.

Which was… probably just as well. He’d been told it wasn’t a good look on him.[1]

Distantly, he was aware that he’d be stupid to, not worrying about it; while it probably helped that he was actually on good terms with most of his exes (something CeeCee still laughed about, because his life would always be funny to her, it seemed), the man knew that any lingering goodwill meant nothing when one was in the presence of girlfriends– traditional ‘collateral’ for gossip, and all that –and even less when they were actually, y’know, related. While Charlotte was indubitably one of his better acquaintances (seeing how she still dropped by from time to time and didn’t annoy him like some people he knew), there was no real way of knowing what had been said or who had said it; it was common knowledge that he got around, and he knew how that looked like.

But the witch who was smiling at him now seemed pleased enough to meet him, so whatever she heard, he figured, couldn’t have been too bad. 

“It’s just… If all you’ve heard about are my hands, then it’s probably because I’m not so good with compliments,” Rick drawled, switching the glass to his other hand to curl the first– the one closest to her –into a fist, and relax. The move was languid, almost gentle, as it unfurled finger by finger. Revealing a calloused palm, he stared at it, thoughtful. “My mouth’s better at other things,” and his gaze flickered at hers, before he slanted her a modest grin.

Suddenly clearing his throat, Rick chuckled and leaned back; he’d leaned in – just a bit – without meaning to, and the air lightened, just enough to leave a slightly clearer head. “But that’s enough about me,” he tipped his glass at Dolly like a salute, and took a drink. “You,” the glass was set down, “have a book to write, don’t you?” Casually, he added, “Some of my nieces are pretty crazy about the stuff you’ve written.”

1.	Mostly on the basis of what a lie it’d be.